


Radioactive

by Emily_F6



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Big Bang, Gen, Irondad, Irondad Big Bang, Peter is Tony's Biological Child, spider bites and sickness, spiderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-08 10:16:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17979437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emily_F6/pseuds/Emily_F6
Summary: Things haven't always been great between Tony Stark and his son. He wasn't ready to become a father...didn't even know he had a son until the boy's mother died. Over time, though, he thought he got the hang of it. But that was before his son went on a field trip to Oscorop and was seemingly left fighting for his life. *Written for Iron Dad Big Bang*





	1. Spider

**Author's Note:**

> I am so excited to start sharing this story! I wrote it for the Irondad big bang and have been working on it for months. I hope you enjoy!

Spider

Peter stumbled through the side door of his father's tower, stepping straight into the private elevator and leaned against the wall, gripping the railing in a white knuckled grip. After taking the subway home from school and walking the five blocks home, he felt about ready to drop. "Good evening, Peter." The soft voice in the elevator greeted.

"Hi, FRIDAY." He murmured, holding his stomach and clenching his teeth. His head was spinning, the place on his upper arm radiating heat under his sleeve. Something was wrong...he'd known that from the time he'd taken his seat on the bus beside Ned after they'd left Oscorp. His friend had looked at him, reaching out and touching his shoulder while MJ sat in front of them, ignoring them both as usual.

"Pete, you okay?" He had asked, shaking him a little. "Peter?" Peter had forced himself to nod, teeth clenched together so he wouldn't throw up on his friend.

"Yeah...yeah, I'm okay. I...just...think I ate something bad."

Ned had looked pretty skeptical, which was fair, as they'd eaten the same thing...the brown-bagged sandwiches and chips with chocolate chip cookies and carrot sticks from the school cafeteria especially designed for field-trips. No one else had looked like they were about to drop...or throw up. "You sure? You want to call your dad?" He'd asked, scooting closer so they could whisper.

"Nah. He's at a meeting or something all day. I'm fine. Just...I'll go home and lay down." His friend had nodded, still not looking convinced.

"If you're sure, man." Ned had murmured, then had gone on to talk about the new Star Wars, trying to distract Peter until they'd gotten back to the school. Then he'd walked Peter to the subway station. Sometimes Happy would pick him up, but he'd had a meeting too, so Peter hadn't asked. He had started regretting that as soon as he'd started the walk back to the tower.

"Your heart rate and temperature are both elevated. Are you feeling ill?" FRIDAY asked.

"No...I'm okay…" He insisted, the elevator swimming around him. Stumbling when it came to a stop on the top floor where they lived, he gripped the railing and forced himself upright. "I'm fine." Maybe if he kept saying it, it would come true.

"Peter, you are not…" The AI started.

"Mute." He snapped, feeling a little bad. She was still kind of new...mostly he just missed JARVIS, and he knew his dad did too. Sometimes he took that out on FRIDAY when he didn't mean to. He liked Vision fine...but it wasn't the same. JARVIS had been his friend...one of very few for a long time. He still remembered those early days at Stark tower...remembered feeling so alone and so afraid. JARVIS had been his first friend. Often, when he had woken up in the middle of the night from nightmares, the AI had played soft music in the background to help him get back to sleep. Other times when his nanny had gone to her room for the night, JARVIS had read Peter various popular bedtimes stories, his melodious voice putting the boy back to sleep when nightmares of his mother woke him over and over. FRIDAY was nice too, though. She was intuitive and always kind to him. It wasn't her fault she wasn't JARVIS.

"Sorry...just...unmute. I'm sorry. I just...I'll be fine after a little while. I'm gonna go...lay down." He stumbled out of the elevator, hurrying down the hallway toward his bedroom. Thankfully no one was around. The rule was usually homework first, but he figured his dad would forgive him just this once. "Where's Dad?" He asked, shutting the door behind him and dropping his backpack in the corner before stumbling to his bed where he curled up on his side, shivering and pulling his blanket around him. He remembered that he'd had a meeting, but couldn't remember where.

"Mr. Stark is currently in a meeting with Captain Rogers, Agents Fury and Hill, and Agent Romanoff."

"Where?" He asked, feeling his hands start to shake. It was getting worse. The spider bite felt like it was burning him, and he bit back a sob. Something was wrong...even he could tell. The pain radiated out from the throbbing welt on his arm and seemed to reach every part of his body, setting him on fire.

"Mr. Stark's meeting is at SHIELD headquarters but he will be returning this evening. Would you like me to contact him and ask him to come home now?"

That was right...they'd gone to DC for the meeting while he'd been on his field trip. In the jet, it wouldn't take his dad long to come home. "No." He could wait. He didn't want his dad to miss a meeting because of him. It had happened once or twice, usually because Peter was feeling sick or had a school thing, and he always felt bad, no matter how much his dad tried to assure him it was fine. It was one thing his dad had always been good at...assuring Peter that everything was okay...that he wasn't upset with him. He'd never made Peter feel guilty for needing him. Tucking his knees against his stomach and wondering if he was going to throw up, he closed his eyes, but somehow that didn't help.

The trip to Oscorp had been so cool. He'd been practically bouncing that morning, much to his father's amusement, and had been looking forward to seeing all the cool science, even though he was sure Stark Industries had better stuff. At least, that's what his father had told him, rolling his eyes and telling Peter he could just give him a tour of their labs. Peter had declined the offer immediately, making his father chuckle and mess up his hair right before he'd run out the door, and Peter had groaned, smoothing it back down and taking off after letting his dad kiss his head. "Love you, buddy. Have fun."

"Love you, dad!" He'd called, grinning over his shoulder and jumping into the elevator. And Oscorp had been amazing! They'd gotten to tour the labs and listen to Doctor Osborne himself talk about their internship program (not that his dad would ever let him take an internship there) and the history of the company and then they'd eaten lunch. But then Peter had wandered off on his own...and that had been when his trouble had started.

In his defense, the door had been unlocked. Unlocked and full of glass cages. He'd stepped inside, glancing around to see if anyone was around. No one had been, so he'd started looking around, peering into the cages only to jump back when he found a huge spider staring back at him. "Shit...shit shit...oh...no." He'd shrieked, hurrying back toward the door, but then he'd felt the pain on his arm. Bringing his hand up and smacking his arm, he'd pulled his sleeve up and found a small welt on his arm that had only grown in the last couple of hours.

Peter must have fallen asleep, because the next time he opened his eyes, the sun was going down outside his window. Groaning, he brought a hand up to wipe his eyes, flinching when his arm throbbed. "Peter, your temperature is still rising. Are you sure you wouldn't like me to contact Mr. Stark." FRIDAY asked, sounding worried.

"No." He put a hand over his mouth, retching before jumping out of bed and hurrying to his bathroom, dropping to his knees in front of the toilet and throwing up everything he'd eaten, throat burning and stomach cramping as he vomited. He spent the next few minutes dry heaving, then flushed. Using the sink, he dragged himself to his feet, the whole room spinning around him even when he closed his eyes before he washed his mouth out as best he could.

He practically crawled back to the bed once the room finally stopped moving, ignoring FRIDAY who asked again if he was okay. "Peter? You are showing increasing signs of distress and your temperature is dangerously high." She warned, and he knew she must be close to calling his dad. Sure, he got some input, but his dad had programmed FRIDAY to alert him in certain cases, and no amount of begging and bargaining could change her mind when it got to that point.

"When's Dad coming home?" He all but sobbed, clamping a hand over his mouth when his stomach rebelled again. Barely making it to the toilet, he threw up again, gripping the toilet seat as his head throbbed and his energy seemed to drain by the second. Everything hurt, and he wanted his dad. Stumbling back to his bed once more, he curled up on his side, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Mr. Stark should be home within the next ten minutes," FRIDAY told him, her voice almost gentle, and he managed to keep himself from throwing up again for the next long, slow thirteen minutes before he finally heard his father's voice.

"Pete? Kiddo, I'm home! I brought Cap too! I know how much you love him!" Peter grabbed his headboard, putting every bit of effort into pulling himself up and doing his best to keep his balance as he stumbled to his bedroom door, listening to his father's footsteps get closer and the distant laughter of his dad's teammate and friend. "Pete?"

Peter opened his door, practically running into his father who was reaching out to knock. "Hey, Petey! How was the field...trip..." His dad trailed off, grabbing his shoulders and getting a closer look. All Peter could see was his father's blurry form leaning over him and he slouched forward, his dad's arms holding him up. "Peter?" He asked, all teasing gone from his voice.

"Dad...Dad, I don't feel good." Peter choked out, feeling tears fall from his eyes. He knew he was too old to be crying...but it hurt. Everything hurt and he was so hot!

"Woah...hey...hey buddy. What's wrong?" He sounded scared but Peter couldn't figure out why. Then his dad's hand was pressed against his forehead, his other arm wrapped firmly around his torso and holding him upright. "Holy shit...FRIDAY what's his temperature?"

"104.2 and rising, sir," FRIDAY informed them solemnly, and Tony swore under his breath, getting an arm around his shoulders.

"Okay. It's okay. Let's get you back to bed, kiddo." He murmured, all but carrying his kid to the bed. "Steve!" He called, gently laying Peter back down where he curled up on his side, not recognizing the whimpering noise that came from his own mouth. "What's wrong, Pete? What hurts?"

"Everything…'m hot." He sobbed and felt his dad run a hand through his hair, pushing it back out of his face.

"Tony? What...what happened?" He heard Steve ask, the man suddenly sounding anxious. "Peter? Tony, what's wrong with him?"

"He's got a fever...it's really high. Damn it. Get me a cold rag. Ice packs...something. Hurry!" He demanded, pulling the covers away from his kid and stroking his burning cheek with his thumb. "Pete? You with me, honey?"

"Spider...there...there was...Dad? Dad, it hurts!" He couldn't help the strangled way his voice cut off, the sob breaking through, even though he was too old to be sobbing like this. He was almost fifteen! But he couldn't help the tears still dripping down his face.

"I know, buddy. It's okay. Here." Something ice cold was laid on his head, and Peter cracked his eyes open to find a worried looking Captain America standing beside his father. "Steve? He's really hot...104...FRIDAY said it was rising. Can you get me the Tylenol? He should have some in his medicine cabinet." Peter heard Steve say something, but could barely make it out.

"It was...there...spider. Daddy…" He hadn't called his father 'daddy' in years...not since he was nine or ten, but the word slipped out as he sobbed on the bed, so hot and miserable and sick as his whole body throbbed in pain. His head was the worst...he couldn't hold a thought for more than a second, and he wanted his dad to fix it.

"I'm here, honey. A spider? What about a spider?" Peter clumsily reached for his sleeve and larger hands gently brushed his away, pulling his sleeve up and then his father was swearing again. Peter wanted to crack a joke about his language in front of Captain America, but he could barely make his mouth work.

"The room...there was a room...and spiders. Dad...spiders." As he said the words, his chest got tight, and he found himself gasping. "Dad?" Weakly bringing a hand to his chest, he tried to open his eyes again and find his Dad.

"Shit...shit shit shit!" His father was shouting, and it made his head pound. He wanted to shush him but his mouth wasn't working.

"Do you think it's an allergic reaction or…" Steve trailed off, and Peter felt him come closer.

"I don't…" His father had started off screaming but quickly lowered his voice. "I don't know, Cap. I don't...just….FRIDAY, call an ambulance!" He demanded, his hand gently prodding the swollen red mess on his son's arm. Then he was holding something to Peter's mouth. "Here, bud. Swallow these, okay?" Peter did as he was asked, drinking the water from the cup held to his mouth.

FRIDAY's response was soft and gentle. "Yes, sir. An ambulance is on its way." Peter wondered if it was possible for an AI to sound worried. He felt even worse for snapping at her earlier.

"Pete, you went to Oscorp today, right? Did anything happen?" Tony asked, putting an ice pack on top of the cold cloth on his forehead. It wasn't doing anything...he was still so hot and so cold, his whole body shaking.

"Spiders...didn't mean to…" He was suddenly so cold...shivers went up and down his spine and he whimpered, trying to curl back into a ball. "Dad?"

"I'm here. It's okay. There were spiders at Oscorp? That's where one bit you?"

"Yeah." He was so, so cold, desperately clutching for a blanket, but a huge, strong hand took his and he realized that Steve was still there. At some point, he must have closed his eyes. Steve squeezed his hand gently.

"Open your eyes, Pete." He ordered, his voice soft, and Peter obeyed, still gasping. Why was breathing so hard? Peter had to fight to keep his eyes focused on the tall blond man who was kneeling beside him. "Hey, son. Help's coming, okay? You're gonna be fine. Did I tell you that everyone's coming up this weekend? Sam too. Bet he'll take you for a ride with his falcon suit." Peter managed a smile at that.

"Can I, Dad?" He asked, playing along, not wanting his father to worry. He would be fine, right? He had to be! It was just the flu or something.

"Yeah, kiddo. Long as I get to come and make sure he doesn't drop you." His dad choked out, sounding like he was crying. Why would his dad be crying? His dad almost never cried. The last time had been when Pepper had moved out, and he'd found his dad in his lab, sitting on a stool, a hand over his eyes.

"Dad?" He'd asked, hesitating in the open doorway. His father had taken a long, shuddering breath, and had tried to smile up at him.

"Hey, buddy."

"Where's Pepper going?" He'd wondered. Sometimes he called her Aunt Pepper, but lately, she and his dad had been having quiet, angry conversations that stopped as soon as he walked into a room. He'd tried asking his dad if everything was okay, but he'd usually been assured that everything was fine and that he shouldn't worry. He was always hesitant to push it...he didn't want to upset him. So he kept quiet and then one day he'd come home from school and had passed her on her way out, suitcases in hand. She'd been crying too and had barely smiled at him as she'd jumped into a car, Happy waiting by the door with a solemn frown.

"She, uh...she's gonna stay...somewhere else for a while, Pete." For a minute, he'd felt his heart clench, pain and betrayal mixing before getting another good look at his father. The man had been slumped over on the stool, eyes red and no matter how hard he was trying to smile, he had tear tracks on his face. So Peter had shrugged, pushing away his anger and hurt towards Aunt Pepper and had stepped forward, wrapping his arms tight around his dad who'd hugged him back just as hard.

"We'll be fine without her." He'd assured his dad softly, and the man had given a weak cuckle, a hand tangling in Peter's curls. "We've got each other, right?"

"We sure do, buddy."

His dad had never let Sam take him up in his wingsuit. The man usually tended toward overprotective, so he knew that it must be bad for him to agree to let Falcon take him flying. "Sam wouldn't drop…" Peter mumbled, swallowing hard and grimacing when his stomach turned, and he clamped a hand to his mouth, unable to finish that thought.

"Hang on, buddy." Immediately his dad was helping him sit up a little and turn sideways, a trash can suddenly appearing under him, and once more he was throwing up. It felt like it went on forever, Steve's hand rubbing his back while his dad held him stay upright. He opened his eyes when he was done and felt his breath catch...there was frothy red liquid in the trash can.

"Dad…" He whimpered, hands shaking as his huge eyes met his father's own terrified ones, but Steve eased him down to the bed.

"Easy, Peter. It's okay. Help's coming. It's going to be fine." Steve assured him, putting the ice pack back on his head and running a cloth over his mouth. His father still hadn't spoken and he reached out, fear a knot in his stomach, until his father caught his hand, squeezing gently and speaking in a tone Peter hadn't him use in a long time...not since he was little.

"It's okay, honey. It's going to be fine. FRIDAY?"

"The ambulance is on its way, sir." The AI told him.

"Give me his stats."

"Temperature 104.9. Dangerously elevated heart rate."

"It's rising too fast...how can his fever be rising that fast? His dad whispered, sounding lost.

"What's the ETA on that ambulance?" Steve bit out as Tony pulled Peter closer.

"Dad? Where...spider? There was…"

"I know. I know, buddy. Help is almost here." Peter closed his eyes again, ignoring whatever his dad and Steve were talking about above him. His chest felt so tight...he was still gasping for breath as his father placed a hand on his chest. "Peter?"

"Dad...I can't...it hurts…" He choked on his words, gasping and sobbing at the same time. "I can't…"

"Steve!" His dad was yelling even though he was pretty sure Steve was still in the room. Why would he need to yell?

Then there were other voices and someone was pulling him away from his dad. He tried to scream for him, but he couldn't catch his breath. Something was put over his mouth and then people were moving him and he reached out a desperate hand. "Dad! Dad!" He sobbed into the mask on his face, and then someone was holding his hand again.

"I'm here, honey. I'm right here. I'm coming with you." Peter turned his head, blinking until he found his terrified-looking father walking alongside him on the bed that was suddenly rolling, and there were other people he didn't know and he just wanted his dad. "Steve, call Helen. Ask her to come as fast as she can."

"I'll be right behind you guys."

"Peter, stay awake, okay?" But he couldn't...couldn't make himself open his eyes again, and the last thing he felt was his father's hand dropping his as his arm went limp.


	2. Memories of a Rocky Start

Memories of a Rocky Start

Tony sat crammed in the corner of the ambulance, staring down at his son who suddenly looked tiny under the oxygen mask and the wires now attached to him. He knew Steve was coming, and Helen, hopefully. But he'd need to contact everyone else. Rhodey. Happy...he hadn't told either of them. He'd just come home and then his son had fallen into his arms and he was so hot and he had started crying...he tried to remember the last time his son had cried and realized it had been over a year. The kid thought he was too big to cry in front of his father...or anyone else, apparently. Especially when the team was around. But he'd been sobbing on the bed with his father and Captain America in the room...and then the blood. He'd been throwing up blood.

The welt on his arm had been bad...dark red and swollen and raw looking. And his son...the little boy he'd raised from the time his mother had died when he was five, had called him 'daddy' and was calling for him and could hardly breathe and his temperature was so high...what had happened? What kind of spider caused this kind of reaction? He was throwing up blood! Why? And that fever...it was too high. He'd been fine that morning, and now he had a fever that should have...no. He wasn't going to think about 'should.' He'd lose his mind.

The EMTs were speaking softly, both looking worried as they injected his son with something. The boy didn't even flinch...Peter hated needles. Had hated them since Tony had taken him to get his vaccinations two weeks after picking the boy up from the foster home. Tony had had to carry him into the doctor's office and listen to him scream for his mom the whole time, and it had taken him almost an hour to calm the little boy down. Pepper had come in to find him holding his son on the couch later that day, and he'd had to ask her to cancel all of his meetings for the rest of the day which he'd spent with his little boy...it had been the only full day he'd spent with him for the first year they'd been together.

Peter didn't wake when they put needles in the crook of his elbow and the back of his hand. Didn't even stir. Tony felt the tears falling, his breath catching when the monitor kept beeping too loudly. He couldn't even focus on what they were saying...all he could see when he closed his eyes was his kid stumbling out of his door, pale and crying and reaching for him, telling him he didn't feel good. He was fourteen years old. And his fever was over 105 now...and rising. Tony wasn't a doctor, but he knew that a fever like that should be fatal. His son was fourteen years old...he couldn't die. Couldn't. He hadn't even lived yet!

When the ambulance arrived at the hospital, they wheeled his son into a hallway and through a pair of double doors that Tony wasn't allowed through. Instead, he was asked to wait in the waiting room where he'd dropped into a chair by the nurse's station, dropping his head into his hands. All he could see was his son's pale face as he'd reached out for him, slumping against him, too weak to even stand. And the blood...Peter had been fine that morning. Excited about his field trip. He was such a good kid. The best kid, despite what a shitty dad Tony had been at first.

Peter had been five when Tony had received the call from the hospital in a hotel room in Dubai. He hadn't answered, mostly because he'd been drunk and in the middle of...networking with the woman in his hotel room. The next morning when he'd checked his voice mail on the way back to the conference, he'd nearly thrown up. He didn't even remember Mary Parker...and the woman had never contacted him again. Even after his son had been born.

The woman from the hospital had given him the basics...Mary was gone. Mugged and shot on her way home from work. And her son...his son, had seen it all. Had been with her. She didn't have any other family. Tony was the boy's next of kin. So Tony had called Pepper, filled her in, and had asked her to book him a plane ticket to New York. Peter had been put with a foster family until Tony had been able to pick him up, and he was ashamed to even think about that first day, pulling up to a house in Queens and shaking hands with an older man while an equally elderly lady had ushered his son forward...he'd been clutching a brand new backpack and had refused to meet Tony's eyes. The boy hadn't spoken to him at first, and Tony hadn't made much of an attempt to talk to him...he'd still been hungover, so he hadn't exactly encouraged the kid to try. Then they'd gotten on the plane to go to Tony's house in Malibu.

On the plane, the boy had sat right beside him, huge eyes watching him almost the whole time. "So...I'm...uh...you're going to stay with me from now on, okay?" Tony had told him, turning to the little boy and wondering if it would be okay to have a scotch before they landed. "I'm Tony...you can call me...um…" He'd trailed off, and the boy had interrupted him in a weak, frightened voice.

"Are you my dad?"

"Yeah." He'd answered after a minute, nodding and wanting that drink even more.

"Where's Mommy?" Tony had gotten the drink after that question and had given some kind of shitty answer that he couldn't even remember. Pepper had been texting him about his meetings and the boy and he'd drank three glasses of scotch before they'd landed. But he remembered that Peter had slipped his hand into Tony's when the plane had hit some turbulence, and Tony had tried to remember if his father had ever held his hand. Once more, he'd wondered what the hell he'd been doing...he wasn't 'dad' material. But he'd held the little boy's hand, giving him the best smile he could manage.

"Don't worry, kiddo. We're almost there." Peter had just nodded, wide-eyed but trusting.

Peter had been silent when they'd stepped into the enormous mansion, jumping when JARVIS greeted them. "Hey, J! This is Peter. Peter, this is JARVIS." He'd told the kid, grinning and rocking back on his heels, still a little buzzed. Then Pepper had entered from the back room, an older woman at her side, and Pepper had introduced her as Shannon, apparently the best nanny in California. And then he'd had to go to his next business trip, promising the kid he'd be home soon.

He hated thinking about those first couple of years...he'd been gone for almost a week on that business trip, coming home to the little boy who'd been sitting in his room, coloring quietly while Shannon sat with him, both talking quietly about the picture he was coloring. Tony had entered the room, crouching down beside the boy who'd looked up at him with wide eyes, feeling his first wave of real affection for the kid. This was his son...and he could be better than Howard. He knew that. He could drink less and spend time with the boy and they'd work on cars or something. It would be fine. "Hey, Pete. What are you drawing?" He'd asked.

Peter had shyly shown him his drawing, which had mostly just been a scribble of blue and green with some yellow in the corner. Pointing bashfully, he'd spoken almost too quietly for Tony to hear. "That's Mommy and me and that's the sun and a rock here, and a tree."

"Wow...that's really good, Peter." Reaching out, he'd ruffled the boy's hair, and Peter had given him a hopeful smile that had broken his heart. It must have been the way he'd looked at Howard any time the man would show him any kind of affection. He didn't want his son to feel the way he had. "Come on. Let's hang it up." Leading the boy into the kitchen, he'd hung up the picture on the otherwise pristine refrigerator with a magnet shaped like a science beaker, and Peter had beamed. "How about some lunch?"

Together, they'd eaten mac and cheese, and Tony had been about to suggest a puzzle or something, whatever the kid liked to do, when he'd gotten a phone call. And then he'd had a meeting. And then he'd had a drink. Most of his worst memories started that way.

A hand on his shoulder helped him shake off that memory and he opened his eyes, looking around and finding Steve at his side, Happy right behind him. "How is he, Tony?"

"They haven't told me anything. They...they took him back and…" He just shook his head, rubbing a hand over his face. "He was fine this morning. He was excited about that stupid field trip to a third rate lab and I wasn't even home and…"

"Tony, breathe." Steve murmured, crouching in front of him. "He's going to be fine."

"His fever was over 105. That's too high, Steve. You don't...I don't know…"

"Helen is on her way. She's going to fix this."

"What if she can't?" Steve put a hand on his back.

"Tony, you can't do this to yourself." He whispered, and Happy took a seat on his other side. "Helen was in London...she'll be here in four hours."

"I'll pay for her ticket."

"I already gave her your credit card number." Tony managed a weak smile at that. Then, for a few minutes, they sat in silence. But he couldn't keep quiet for long...couldn't stand his own terrible thoughts.

"What if…"

"Don't, Tony. Don't even think it." Steve reprimanded, looking pale himself. "He's going to be fine. He's a tough kid."

Of course, he was a tough kid. He'd watched his mom die at five years old...and he remembered it. Tony only knew that because every once in a while, especially after a stressful week at school or a fight with his friends, he'd have a nightmare about it. Then, for the first two years with the father he hadn't even known he had, Peter had been basically raised by the nanny while Tony had ducked in and out of his life, usually drunk. "I was such a shitty father…" He whispered.

Steve turned to him with wide eyes, shaking his head. "Tony, that boy adores you. He's a great kid...one of the smartest people I know. You're an amazing father." Steve spoke softly...sincerely. Normally it would have made Tony's stomach clench uncomfortably. Even with Steve, emotions gave him hives. But now all he could think about was his son...his suddenly very sick son who had been coughing up blood only a few minutes ago.

"You didn't know me then, Steve. Trust me...I used to be a really shitty father. I was a drunk and I barely spent time with him...you know, Pepper took him to his first day of school. And Rhodey picked him up. Then when I became Iron Man…" He just shook his head, wiping a hand down his face.

"Whatever happened back then, it's over. You can't change any of that. But everyone knows you love Peter more than anything. And he loves you. He's going to be fine. Helen's going to come and he'll be fine."

The doctor that came out to find him in the waiting room almost an hour later was a man around Tony's age with a tight, serious look on his face. "Family of Peter Stark?" He asked, and immediately Tony stood, Happy and Steve jumping up behind him.

"I'm his father." He announced, hurrying over and ignoring the curious looks from the other occupants of the surprisingly busy waiting room. They'd mostly ignored him so far, but at the name 'Stark' everyone seemed to look up at once.

"Mr. Stark, I'm Doctor Benson." He held out a hand that Tony shook. "Please, come with me." That didn't sound good. Tony glanced back at Happy and Steve, both of whom followed as he hurried after the doctor. The man led them to a smaller room and gestured for him to sit. All three men did, and then the doctor took a seat across from them, hands clasped. "Mr. Stark, we're doing everything we can…"

"What's wrong with him?" Tony cut him off, hating how weak his own voice sounded. Not Peter. Not his son...not after everything.

He hadn't always been the best father...he'd tried to be there for the boy, but for the first years, he'd been a drunk mess, always leaving his son with Shannon and JARVIS to watch after him. Occasionally Pepper or Rhodey. And every time he'd come home, from a business trip or a meeting, the boy would be waiting for him like a puppy, his eagerness ripping at the man's heart. And then, he'd been taken. He'd left Peter home with Shannon and Rhodes, kissing his forehead, promising to be home soon and feeling too much like his own father, and he had returned from Afghanistan almost four months later a changed man.

When he'd arrived home after the press conference, it had been to a sobbing newly seven-year-old boy who'd launched himself at his father, begging him not to leave again. "I'm not going to leave again, buddy. I promise...oh kiddo, I missed you so much." He'd pulled away a little, resting his forehead against his son's, their noses touching. "I love you so much, Peter. I'm sorry I was gone so long...I'm here now."

And then he'd become Iron Man. And he'd tried. He'd spent at least one day a week with the boy, tried to eat dinner with him, and had even read him a couple of bedtime stories. Then he'd realized that he was being poisoned by the thing keeping him alive. And his son had gone back to the nanny...a guilty thought he tried not to dwell on too much. His new personal assistant, Natalie Rushman, who had turned out to be Agent Romanoff, had been both his personal assistant after he'd given the company to Pepper and a part-time babysitter, which she'd seemed to enjoy. Thanks to all the time spent with his Auntie Nat, Peter was now fluent in Russian, which just reminded Tony that for the first two years he'd gotten with his son, he'd spent most of the time pushing the boy off on other people.

"Peter is exhibiting symptoms of severe radiation poisoning." Doctor Benson told him gently.

"Radiation…" That didn't make sense. Peter was allowed in his labs, but only when Tony was with him, and Peter knew that. Even if FRIDAY would allow him in the labs without Tony, there was nothing radioactive he could access.

"He was at Oscorp...he said the spider was at Oscorp." Steve reminded him in a murmur, a hand running over his face. Of course. Tony felt like his brain was scrambled...everything was wrong. His son might be dying. He might lose his son.

"You think the spider was radioactive?" Tony choked out, shaking his head. This wasn't supposed to happen. Not to his son. He was the one who took the risks. He remembered his own experience with a different kind of poison...back when he'd been so sure he was going to die. After a half-hearted attempt to be a better father than his own, while mostly focusing on his superhero activities and the press, he'd discovered that his arc reactor was poisoning him...and he'd been sure that it would be better to push the boy away than to let him get even more attached only to lose another family member.

Then he'd figured it out...he'd found the answer and fixed his arc reactor...and the first thing he'd done was run up the stairs and burst into his son's bedroom, reaching down and pulling him into his arms. The eight-year-old boy had gripped him in surprise, fingers clutching his father's stained sweatshirt, and Tony had spun him around, laughing out loud, then crushing him to his chest. It was the first time in almost a year that he'd let himself realize he wasn't going to die...and that he wanted to be a real father to his little boy. He was going to be better...better than he'd been before. Better than Howard.

"Come on, buddy. We're going down to the lab. I've got something to show you."

"But I'm not allowed in the lab…" Peter had reminded him, resting his head on his dad's shoulder, and Tony had realized how long it had been since he'd held his little boy. Squeezing him closer, he'd kissed his son's head again.

"Come on. It's about time I taught you some science." His kid had certainly proven himself skilled at science. He could repeat things back to Tony after hearing them just once, easily memorizing the parts of his suit and the way his arc reactor worked. Then Tony had started paying real attention to the boy's grades and had realized how smart his son was...how good at science and math, how he was already learning how to build robots and write code for computers at school.

"We're doing everything we can, Mr. Stark but...we think you should be with him. Inform the rest of his family." Happy gripped his arm before he'd even realized he was swaying. "His fever is up to 107. He started seizing...we're doing everything we can. But his temperature is rising too quickly. He's burning through everything we're giving him, and we can't get the fever down."

"No," Tony whispered it, shaking his head. They'd gone through so much...picking the boy up from that foster home after his mom's accident...finally being told that he had a son...and then almost throwing it all away. Giving the boy to a nanny to raise while he had galavanted around, drinking and earning the title 'playboy' over and over. Coming home only to hug the kid, then disappear back into his lab where he never let Peter join him. Then the kidnapping...coming home and telling the boy how much he loved him only to lose himself in superhero stuff and push him away again a little over a year later. Destroying his own home fighting with Rhodey over one of his suits, and then looking up at the top of the stairs to find his little boy sobbing, curled up in a ball, and being so drunk and out of it that he'd only called the nanny to take him back to bed, feeling like more of a failure than ever.

But they'd had good days too! And he'd done everything he could to make up for all of it! He'd made so many mistakes, but then he'd gotten himself back on track. Taking Peter into the lab and teaching him the very basics of chemistry before moving forward to more advanced concepts...before long, the boy was learning college level stuff and mixing his own chemicals...under Tony's very direct supervision of course.

From the moment he'd met him, he'd loved the boy. But he hadn't let himself really act on it until he'd fixed the arc reactor...until he'd carried his little boy into the lab and held him on his lap while he'd worked on his Iron Man suit, pointing out all of the parts and listening to Peter repeat them back.

One night, just a few weeks after that, when things had seemed to get better and better, and he'd been getting to know his son for the first time, JARVIS had woken him, telling him that Peter was having a nightmare. He'd hurried into his son's room, picking up the sobbing boy and promising it would be okay. When he'd finally gotten the crying kid to calm down, he'd sat down beside him on the bed, holding him to his chest and rocking him a little. "Did you have a nightmare?" He'd asked, despite already knowing the answer, and Peter had nodded. "What about?" Peter had shaken his head then, burying his face in his dad's chest over his arc reactor and clutching at him with all his strength. "You can tell me, buddy. It'll make you feel better to talk about it."

"I dreamed you forgot me again." And Tony had bitten his lip so hard it had nearly drawn blood, blinking hard and staring at the ceiling. Of course that's what it must have felt like to the boy. Like Tony would pop into his life, shower him with stuff and some attention, then forget about him. His whole chest ached at the thought, memories of his own father playing on repeat in his brain. 

Pressing his face into Peter's hair, he'd fought tears and lost. "I never forgot about you, baby. And I'll never forget you. Not ever."

"Promise?" Peter had whispered, clutching his dad's t-shirt.

"I promise."

**This amazing fanart was done by @marvel-us-world on Tumblr (Marvel_us_world here on AO3). Thank you so much!!!!**


	3. Auntie Nat and Uncle Rhodey

Thank you so much to everyone who has been reading and reviewing! I appreciate you all so much <3 Here is chapter 3 of the Big Bang!

Auntie Nat and Uncle Rhodey

Agent Natasha Romanoff was the next person to enter the small, private waiting room where they'd been taken, her lips pressed tightly together. He hadn't seen her at the meeting in DC so he had to assume that she'd been on a mission of some kind. The woman was dressed in her signature black, short black hair pushed behind her ears. The woman met Tony's eyes, face schooled into a blank mask. But Tony knew better. She was afraid...he rarely saw her afraid, but the Black Widow was afraid now. The doctor glanced up from where he was sitting with the three men, looking concerned for a moment as though he were about to ask her to leave.

"Natasha." Tony waved her over, and she nodded to him, coming to stand beside Steve who gave her a weak smile that barely arrived before it was gone.

"How is he?" She asked, her voice soft. The doctor glanced at Tony who nodded, giving his permission.

"We're doing everything we can." The man began. Tony didn't know if he could stand to hear that again.

Natasha had met Peter years ago when she'd first become his assistant and had loved the kid from the start. There were times he would return from a meeting or a drinking binge to find her at the kitchen table, teaching Peter to play cards or even coloring together. He never said anything about it. The kid liked her and he trusted her...she seemed good with kids.

Once he had half-stumbled in, wondering how many more times he'd stumble into his kid's life before the arc reactor finally killed him, and she and Peter had been playing go fish at the table. Peter has taken one look at him, eyes lighting up, and had scrambled off his chair, throwing his arms around Tony's waist and gripping his shirt with a cry of 'daddy!' Tony had given him a pat him on the head and had left to go to his lab to work until he passed out as he had been wont to do in those days. As he'd reached the elevator, he'd glanced back to find the boy back at the table, shoulders slumped, chin on his chest and Tony had wanted to die right then. He remembered that pain...remembered a time when he'd been so excited to see his own father...remembered how his dad would sometimes give him a pat on the head before going off to do important work that Tony was never included in.

Then his assistant had reached out to the boy, her hand resting on his back, eyes soft and sad as the boy had sniffed. "Why...why doesn't he…"

Too much of a coward to listen to the rest of that sentence, Tony had practically sprinted to the lab, taking the stairs instead, where he'd done his best to drown himself in the closest alcohol.

After she'd revealed that she worked for SHIELD, he'd expected her to disappear, considering he'd turned down Fury's offer to join his super-team. But then he'd come home one day a few weeks after fixing his arc reactor, having spent his day doing press conferences and meetings that Pepper had forced him into to find the 8-year-old curled up next to the super spy on the sofa, a book open in front of them.

"I'm sorry...did I never fire you? Or did you quit? Pretty sure I hired a new personal assistant. And where's Shannon?" He'd asked, grinning when Peter had jumped to his feet, racing over to Tony and jumping into his arms. This time, Tony had chuckled, lifting the boy off his feet and kissing the top of his head before setting him back down. For a second, he'd wondered how he'd ever gone without this kid. How he could have thought that it would be better not to be in his child's life.

"Tetya Nat uchit menya russkim!" Pete had cried, stumbling a little over the words, looking up at his Dad excitedly, and Tony had blinked, looking from his kid to Natasha who'd grinned at him from the sofa.

"Hi, Tony. I gave Shannon the rest of the day off. And JARVIS let me in."

"Right. Of course he did." Peter had been bouncing beside him, so he'd turned back to the boy, a hand moving to the kid's shoulder to keep him from hopping away. "Gotta admit, my Russian's pretty rusty, Petey."

"I said Auntie Nat's teaching me Russian!" The boy had exclaimed, and Tony had nodded.

"Well, I'd suggest Spanish if you're going to get a head start on a second language...wait, Auntie Nat?"

"Yeah!" The boy had cried, pointing at Natasha.

"Don't point, bud. It's rude." Tony had reminded him gently, pushing the hand down while staring at Natasha. "Auntie Nat?" He'd mouthed.

"It'll look good on a college transcript." She'd assured him, an easy grin on her face.

"He's going to build his own robot before he goes to high school. I doubt his transcript is going to need much help." She had just shrugged, moving to stand by Peter and ruffling his hair. The boy had smiled up at her, and then she'd been on her way, shouting a goodbye over her shoulder.

"I like Auntie Nat." Peter had told him, tugging at his sleeve, and Tony had filed that away, giving JARVIS permission to let her in anytime and setting up a guest room for her. From then on, she'd been a pretty constant presence in Peter's life, dropping by for Russian lessons and to take over babysitting for Shannon.

There was silence in the waiting room and Tony realized that the doctor had stopped taking. Had told some of the most important people in his life that his son was dying. "When can I see him?" Tony asked, swallowing bile at the thought of calling everyone...of telling them that his little boy was going to die and that he could do nothing. He was Iron Man! How could he not fix this? Peter thought it was the coolest thing in the world, having an Avenger for a dad. But what good was it when he couldn't even save his own son?

"I'll take you to his room now." The doctor murmured, leading him, Happy, Steve, and Natasha back to a room down the hall. They didn't care how many people were in the room...even Tony knew that was a very bad sign.

When they stepped into the room, he heard Natasha make a noise behind him, and Happy dropped his gaze to the floor, jaw tight. Steve was the only one who looked right at the boy, eyes softening and pleading, lips pressed in a straight line. Peter looked dead...with a mask on his face and tubes going from his hands and the crook of his elbow, he looked so pale it didn't seem possible that blood still flowed in his veins. A monitor at his side beeped too fast, filling the room with the soft, somewhat rhythmic sound.

"He was fine this morning," Tony whispered, shaking his head. It didn't make sense. The boy had been excited about a field trip. "He was…" He let that thought trail off, swallowing hard and moving to his son's side, gingerly reaching out and taking one of his hands. It felt hot...way too hot. The monitor told him his fever was up to 109.1. He knew his son should be dead...the was no way a human could survive that kind of fever, at least, not without brain damage. "Pete?" He whispered, but the boy was still, his eyelids firmly shut, never stirring even when his father squeezed his hand.

Peter was a light sleeper. Tony had learned that pretty quickly. Any noise on his part in the same room would have Pete jumping upright, blinking and waking no matter if he'd been asleep for ten minutes or an hour. Even when he'd tried to sneak into the house, usually despite being drunk, if Peter was on the sofa, the kid would always wake almost as soon as Tony opened the front door. He could wake the kid by touching his shoulder, even on mornings when the boy had stayed up too late doing homework or reading and it was time for school...Peter would blink up at him, bleary eyes and groaning before rolling over and wrapping himself in a cocoon of blankets. Some days, Tony would take pity on the boy, chuckling and sitting on the bed, gathering his son, cocoon and all into his arms. "Wanna play hookey?" He'd ask, and Peter would grin up at him. Tony would look down at his son's smiling face and remember the little boy with the brand-new backpack who'd held his hand on the plane. He'd remember the boy who would wait up for him as often as he could, no matter if Tony were at meetings or on a bender. He'd see that child, being raised by a loving nanny and an excellent Uncle Rhodey, who had wanted nothing more than his love, and know that a missed day of school was nothing compared to the chance to spend time with his kid...for his son to know how much his father loved him.

The boy would usually nod, eyes mischevious and crinkled in a smile, and Tony would tug some covers for himself, the two of them sleeping until nine or ten, and then they'd make pancakes together for brunch. Sometimes they'd work together in the lab for the rest of the day. Or go out...once they'd gone to the zoo. A few times, a movie. Bowling, once or twice. These days always ended with ice cream and cookies and the two of them on the sofa, watching a movie or mindless TV until Peter would fall asleep on his shoulder. And even when Tony would try to pick him up to carry him to bed, the kid would wake almost instantly, never one to sleep when anything else was going on.

But the teen in the hospital bed didn't even flinch when Tony slipped the smaller fingers into his own.

"Is that...is that right?" Happy asked, pointing at the monitor that told them his temperature, his voice soft and disbelieving.

"We've been trying to give him fever reducers but nothing is working." Doctor Benson told them from the back of the room. "Cold saline, cold packs...we can't get his fever down."

"And the bite?" Steve asked. Tony was glad he was there because all Tony could think about was holding his son's hand...and all the time he'd missed with his little boy. The nights he'd locked himself in his lab working on cars or his Iron Man suit. The times he'd come home drunk to find the boy curled up on the sofa, asleep, where he'd been waiting for him. The missed first days of school and teacher conferences. The birthday when Tony had been in Afghanistan...and the other one, when he'd been dying of palladium poisoning and had locked himself in his lab for days, missing the kid's whole birthday week. At least the years before, he'd made something of an effort...gotten the kid a cake, some presents...never a real party, but he'd always wished the kid a happy birthday. But that year, there had been nothing on his mind but his own oncoming demise.

Rhodey had taken the boy to get ice cream and to a water park. It had been hot that August...hot enough for the little boy to go on water slides and jump in wave pools. But apparently, the boy hadn't had a good time. When Rhodey had returned home with the kid, he'd stormed into Tony's lab, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. "Do you have any idea what day it is?"

"Not now, honey bear." He'd muttered, taking a swig of...well, he couldn't remember the exact alcohol.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Rhodey had almost whispered, shaking his head. "It's your son's birthday! He hasn't even seen you in days, Tony. Days!" Tony had just sighed, taking a long drink this time, vision doubling as he'd tried to focus on his work. A solution...he was trying to come up with a solution to this.

"He has his Uncle Rhodey. I'm sure he's fine." Tony had waved him off.

"He cried all day. While you were down here doing god knows what, your son was crying at a water park because his daddy doesn't love him anymore, Tony."

Then Rhodey had stormed out, slamming the glass door almost hard enough to shatter behind him. Tony had grabbed the closest bottle of alcohol, now empty, and had thrown it against the wall with a roar. Then another bottle, and another, until he'd run out of bottles and breath. And then he'd gone to the bathroom and thrown up every last thing he'd eaten that day, along with the alcohol.

He still had nightmares about Peter crying and asking Tony why he didn't love him anymore.

"We took samples of his blood but have been unable to identify the toxin. We have attempted to contact Oscorp but they have insisted that none of their spiders are venomous to humans. They also said that no child should have been in a room containing live subjects." Tony jumped a little, having been lost in some of the worst memories of his life.

There was a long silence before Steve moved back over to Tony's side, a hand on his shoulder. "Tony? I'm going to call the others. They'll want to know." Tony closed his eyes, clenching his jaw and closing his throat against the sobs. Not yet. Peter was alive. His son was still alive. While he was alive, there was hope. Still, he nodded.

"Thanks, Cap." He whispered, his voice hoarse.

The others came to the hospital quickly, Rhodey first with Clint who had apparently caught a ride. They looked from Tony to the young boy in the bed, his limp hand still clasped in Tony's. Natasha and Steve were sitting by the wall, both looking grim, and Happy was sitting outside, standing guard, Tony guessed, although he wasn't sure what the man was guarding against.

Peter had met Rhodey only a few days after Tony had brought him home. His old friend had come bearing gifts...a brand new teddy bear and a candy bar, both in a red bag that he'd carried into the house, not bothering to knock. Tony had been working at the kitchen table, getting ready to head off to another meeting, when his friend had walked in. "Tones?"

"Oh, hey platypus."

"Where is he?" Tony had lifted an eyebrow and Rhodey had narrowed his eyes, going from happy to concerned. "Your son, Tony."

"Oh. Uh...he's with the nanny." Tony had pushed away the shame that had tugged at him, jumping up and trying not to think of his own father. "JARVIS, get Peter, would you? Have Shannon bring him in here."

And Peter had come bouncing in, smiling until he'd caught sight of Rhodey. Then he'd all but hidden behind Shannon who had stood quietly and unobtrusively. "Hey, Peter." Rhodey had greeted, and Tony had felt a wave of jealousy. How was it so easy for him? "I'm your Uncle Rhodey."

Peter had peeked his head out at that, catching sight of the bag in the man's hand. "Uncle?" He'd asked, eyes darting to Tony who had still had difficulty looking the boy, and his own guilt, in the eye.

"Yep. That's your uncle Rhodey." He'd told the boy, giving him the same smile he gave to the press. It has seemed to reassure Peter who had stepped out from behind his nanny.

"Here you go, kiddo. I thought you might like this." Peter had stared at the bag for a second, hesitant, before tentatively taking it.

"Thank you." He'd whispered.

"Open it." Rhodey had urged with a grin, and the boy had, eyes lighting up when he'd pulled out the huge, soft teddy bear that was holding a candy bar. "What do you think?"

And then Peter had been hugging the man, arms wrapped around his neck. That alone should have told Tony how desperate the kid was for some physical affection. Rhodey had wrapped his arm around the boy, chuckling and letting him hang on for as long as he wanted. From that moment on, he'd been Peter's favorite uncle...maybe his favorite person, apart from Tony who he'd never stopped worshipping. Tony knew that the boy had spent more than one night curled up on Uncle Rhodey's lap while Tony had been out. The stuffed bear still sat on Peter's bed. Uncle Rhodey had been more of a father to Peter than Tony had for the first few years...he was Peter's godfather. And now he was stepping into the boy's hospital room...Tony realized that he might have to watch his godson die today.

"What the hell, Tony?" Rhodey asked, crossing his arms while Clint went to stand beside Natasha, both of their eyes on the boy in the bed. Natasha was resting one gentle hand on the boy's wrist, lips in a tight line. "What happened to him?"

"I...I got home…" Tony started, shaking his head, and Rhodey moved over to stand beside him, dropping a hand on his friend's shoulder and crouching down a little.

"Tones? What's going on?"

Tony stared at his son's still face for a minute, jaw clenched as he shook his head again to clear it. He needed to explain. But he didn't know how many more times he could say it. "I came home from the meeting in DC...he said he didn't feel good. And his fever was so high." Clint glanced at the monitor and paled a little at the number telling them the kid's temperature. "He went on a field trip."

Peter had gone on a field trip and now he was dying.

The first time Peter had met the Avengers had been after the battle for New York. He'd met director Fury a few times when the man had spoken to Tony about the position on the team, but Peter had been pretty excited to find out that his dad was going to be on a real superhero team. "Can you get me Captain America's autograph?" Peter had asked before he'd left to meet the team.

"What do you want that for? Your dad's Iron Man, kid! I'll sign anything you want." Peter had rolled his eyes at his dad's teasing.

"Do you think I'll get to meet them? Will Auntie Nat come around more? Is Uncle Rhodey in the Avengers too?"

"I don't know, bud. We'll see how it goes, okay?" Then Pepper had come into the room, kissing him quickly, then putting an arm around Peter and promising Tony that they would be fine. "Be good, Pete." He'd murmured, crouching a little and holding the boy in his arms. Peter had squeezed him as hard as he could, burying his face in his dad's shoulder.

"Be careful." Tony had smiled into the kid's hair, constantly surprised by how much he loved this boy...by how much his boy loved him.

"I'm always careful, kiddo."

Tony had invited the team back to his tower after the schwarma, and they had all accepted. There was a safe place to hold Loki and the rest were promised guest rooms for the night that would eventually become their permanent rooms. After Tony's house had been destroyed (thank goodness his son had been staying with Shannon in a safe house a few miles away, which was where he'd tried to send Pepper that day the house had been blown up) they'd moved to New York for most of the year. The whole team had strode into the penthouse, all but Natasha stunned to hear a young boy's voice. "Daddy!"

Tony had dropped the bag of leftovers in his hand on a nearby table, reaching out his arms and swinging Peter up to grab him in a hug. The boy hadn't been crying at the time, but Tony could tell that he'd probably seen some live coverage on the news and had been crying earlier. He'd had Pepper take Peter to their other home upstate, but she'd apparently brought him back as soon as the all clear had been given by Happy. "Hey, buddy." Tony had murmured, and he remembered burying his face in his son's hair, squeezing him almost too tight. "How was the house upstate?"

"I missed you!" The boy had cried, ignoring his father's question and clutching the back of Tony's shirt in his hands. "I saw the TV...I thought…" Tony had softened, pressing a kiss to the top of the kid's head.

"It's okay, honey. I'm fine."

"You disappeared."

"Just for a few minutes." He'd shrugged, grinning and rocking the boy for a minute as if that hadn't been the most terrifying moment of his life...the thought that he'd never seen his son again. It had taken a moment to remember the rest of the team, and he'd stroked his son's hair one last time before setting him down, turning to face the others and putting a hand on his arm. "I missed you too, buddy. But I brought guests!" Gesturing to the others, he'd grinned proudly.

"Auntie Nat?" He'd cried, delighted to find the woman approaching, and had chirped something to her in Russian. She'd laughed and responded in kind, and Tony had made a mental note to learn more Russian as she'd pulled him into a hug. "Pete, meet the new team. Clint, Thor, Steve, Bruce, this is Peter."

"You...you have a son?" Steve had asked, wide-eyed with his mouth open as he'd stared at the little boy. It wasn't that he'd hidden the fact that he had a son, but he didn't really expose the boy to reporters. He didn't want them swarming around the kid and making his life as uncomfortable as Tony's had been for so long. So he didn't talk about his kid much with the press. When they went on trips together, Happy's main job had become 'keep Peter away from the reporters.' There were a few blurry pictures of Peter online, but for the most part, everyone had learned that Peter Stark was off limits. So it wasn't that much of a surprise that the team hadn't known that Tony had a son. It had been his plan to ask Peter as he got older if he wanted to interviews with him...if he wanted to be more involved in the public side of his father's life.

What if he never got that chance?

"Yep." Tony had dropped a hand on his boy's shoulder, holding him close. "This is Peter."

"You're Captain America!" Peter had cried, looking at Steve with something like hero-worship, and Tony had snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Little traitor," He'd murmured, and Steve had reached out a hand, grinning at the earnest little boy.

"It's nice to meet you, Peter. You can call me Steve." And from that moment forward, his son's friendship with Captain America had been firmly cemented.

Clint had given him a look that Tony hadn't been quite able to decipher, which had made a lot more sense when he'd later found out that Clint, too, had children, including a son about Peter's age.

"You're Bruce Banner…" Peter had whispered then, and Tony's new friend had chuckled, holding out a hand to Peter and smiling.

"You have a son...who speaks Russian?" Bruce had asked, shaking Peter's hand.

"Auntie Nat taught me." Peter had explained, and Tony had flinched a little, reminded of how much time his son had spent with the woman when he hadn't been around.

"Yes, and now I have to study Russian so I can figure out what they're saying." Tony had joked, grabbing the bag of leftover shawarma. "You ever had shawarma, buddy?" Peter had shaken his head, eagerly grabbing the bag and taking it to the kitchen. While he'd been in the other room, Tony had caught the team giving him strange looks, especially Cap. "Do I have shawarma on my face or something?" He'd finally joked as the two of them and Thor had taken seats in the living room, the others taking off to shower.

"No, I just...Peter seems like a good kid." Tony had felt himself grinning then, nodding proudly.

"Yeah...he's the best."

"How old is your son?" Thor had asked, his booming voice drowning out the humming of the microwave.

"He just turned 10." Tony had told him, and the two had nodded, Steve giving him a strange look. "What?"

"I just...I didn't think of you as the father type." He'd admitted, and Tony had snorted.

"Yeah, well, neither did I. I didn't know about him until about five years ago." Steve's eyebrows had furrowed, and Tony had sighed. "I wasn't exactly...in a relationship with his mother." He'd admitted, scratching his head and lowering his voice and glancing at the kitchen to make sure the kid wasn't close. "His mother was mugged...Pete was with her. She was shot." The microwave beeped and he'd draped an arm over the back of the sofa and called into the kitchen, "Grab a plate and bring it in here, Petey." Then he'd turned back to the other two. "Just...don't ask him about her."

"He remembers?" Steve had asked, eyes wide.

"Still has nightmares about it sometimes." The boy had emerged from the kitchen then, and Tony had patted the couch next to him, watching the kid eagerly digging into his food. "What do you think, Pete?"

"Mmm...it's good!" Peter had grinned up at him after swallowing a big bite. Then he'd held up his plate to Tony. "Wanna try?"

"Nah. I already had some, buddy."

Peter had glanced over at the other two men then, shrinking a little against his father's side shyly. "Dad, what happened to the bad guy?"

"We got him locked up, Pete. Don't worry. Thor here is going to take him back to his home." Peter had stared down at his plate for a moment, the gears in his brain obviously working.

"What if he comes back?" The boy had asked then, peering up at his father with frightened eyes, and Tony had pulled him closer. It had been Thor, however, who has answered.

"Fear not, young Peter. I shall take my brother home and make sure he does not return."

"You promise?" The boy had asked, and the Asgardian had given him a gentle smile, leaning forward and speaking seriously.

"You have my word."

That night, Peter had gone with Tony and Bruce into the lab, impressing even Bruce with his knowledge of chemistry and how much he knew about his dad's Iron Man suit. Clint and Nat had spoken to him in Russian until Tony had jokingly begged them to stop, and Steve had let the boy hold his shield, even showing him how to throw it. Thor had answered all of Peter's questions about Asgard and outer space and his brother and anything else the boy could think of with seemingly endless patience, and in the end, Peter had fallen asleep with his head on his dad's arm while they all sat together in the living room. Little did Tony know, it wouldn't be the last time.

"He was bitten by a spider...on a field trip?" Clint asked after a long silence, hands clasped together in front of him, and Tony was jerked back into the present. "What kind of spider would do this?"

"They don't know. They've drawn blood and they still can't figure it out. Helen's on her way." It was a moment when Tony wished that Bruce were there...one of many moments, actually. They all missed Bruce, Peter especially, even though the boy didn't talk about it much anymore.

Sam, Wanda, and Vision were the last to arrive, Sam practically running into the room, then freezing when he caught sight of the boy in the bed. "What the hell happened?" He asked, sounding angry as though someone in that room had something to do with this. "What's wrong with him?"

Behind him, Wanda and Vision hesitated in the doorway, Wanda covering a hand with her mouth as she stared at the boy, leaning against Vision who wrapped an arm around her. The two of them had been off on some kind of vacation...Sam had been in DC. Rhodey stood, moving over to where Sam was and giving him the rundown in a murmur. Tony stayed where he was, holding the boy's hand and staring at his face. It was the only place he wanted to be...the only person he wanted to see.

It had been three hours...he'd been sitting there for three hours. Helen was coming. She was on her way. He needed Helen to be there. He needed her to save his son. Peter had to be okay. Tony had to keep being his father and his son was going to go on his first date and go to college and grow up and take over Stark Industries and everything was going to be okay.

He had to be okay.


	4. Mutating

Mutating

Peter's fever was at 110.1. Humans couldn't live with a fever of 110.1. Tony was well aware of that. But the heart monitor beside his bed, attached to the boy with wires that ran under the sheet and his hospital gown, continued to beep steadily...too quickly, but still steady. The boy's face was pale and drawn in pain, but high on his cheeks were spots of bright red. Tony kept a hold of his son's hand, thumb rubbing back and forth over his knuckles, wincing at the heat coming from the kid's skin. An IV in his arm kept him hydrated, and his chest rose and fell, heart beating...but Tony knew what a fever that probably meant.

Brain damage.

Tony refused to let the words stay in his mind for more than a few seconds at a time. Not Peter. Not his little boy who built robots and computers and who made jokes about science and who looked at Tony like he'd hung the moon and who had one of the highest GPAs in his school. Not the boy he'd let down so many times but who he loved absolutely and completely...who was his entire world.

The room was filled with the Avengers, the people who had come to see Peter as family. As a nephew or a godson. Who loved him. Who had babysat him and hung out at the tower with him. 

The people who were here to be with the boy when he…

Tony closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and squeezing his son's hand. He didn't look at the others who had moved to the wall, Steve and Sam with their heads together as they spoke softly. Nat and Clint. Wanda and Vision. And Rhodey...Rhodey sat with his hands clenched together, head down. Praying, Tony assumed. Begging a god he actually believed in to save Tony's son. If it worked, Tony was all for it.

The man ran a hand over his face, then glanced up at his son...his son who was staring at the ceiling, mouth open under the oxygen mask, eyes wide and afraid. Weakly, the kid lifted the hand Tony wasn't holding to the mask on his face, tugging at the needle attached to his arm. It took Tony a second to realize that the kid was actually awake somehow. And then to realize that the kid was going to dislodge the IV if he didn't stop.

"No...leave it alone, bud. Pete? Honey, leave it alone." He urged, reaching out and holding his burning arm down with one of his own, ignoring the Avengers watching their every move...probably wondering the same thing he was; how was Peter still alive? "Shh...it's okay, baby." Glancing at the monitor, Tony shook his head. It didn't make sense. The doctors had been trying everything...everything they knew, to get his fever to come down. But it just kept rising, tiny bit by bit. And Peter kept breathing, his heart beating too fast but never stopping. He was alive...he was boiling, lips dry and chapped and almost bleeding despite the IV.

Around the room, the others had all gone silent, all of them staring in silent terror at the boy in the hospital bed who stared blankly at the ceiling, gasping for air. "Get the doctor!" Tony choked out the order, and Clint jumped to his feet to find someone. "Pete? It's okay, kiddo. It's okay. You're fine." He lied to the boy, pushing some hair out of his face.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he looked up when Steve stood from his chair, moving to crouch beside the boy's bed. "Peter? Can you hear me?" Steve asked, leaning forward and patting his hand. The boy's eyes frightened, confused eyes darted between the two men, lips trembling under the oxygen mask. "Everything's going to be okay, Pete. Helen's coming. She's going to fix you up. You're going to be fine." Peter made a noise, whimpering softly as he moved his head from side to side, groaning in pain and squeezing Tony's hand.

"I'm right here, kiddo." Tony murmured, leaning in and trying to get the boy's attention. The kid didn't seem to understand. Instead, Peter threw his head back, groaning under the mask, and Tony tried to brace his head before he could do any damage. "Peter! Kid, hey…" He called a little louder. The boy didn't even look at him, just coughed, flecks of blood covering the inside of the mask. Tony felt his stomach clench and he glanced away, jaw tight.

Dr. Benson chose that moment to arrive, looking just as surprised as the rest of them. "His temperature is over 110...he shouldn't even be alive." The man murmured, double-checking the monitor, and Tony was too terrified to reprimand the man for saying that in front of his son. His kid was staring at the ceiling, obviously in pain and terrified...but he couldn't see Tony sitting right next to him. Couldn't hear him. "How is he even awake?" He muttered, then shook his head and turned to the others. "Everyone out." He ordered, pushing the call button.

Peter was clutching Tony's hand tightly...almost too tightly, the only sign that Peter even seemed to notice that he was there. Tony flinched but didn't try to pull away. "I'm staying." He told the doctor, his voice made of steel. He wasn't leaving his son. Not now, not ever.

"Tony," Steve started, but Tony shook his head. Natasha put a hand on Steve's arm, murmuring something Tony couldn't hear and probably wouldn't like, and the others cleared out, leaving Tony to hold the boy's hand as the room filled with nurses and doctors. As soon as the first nurse touched him, the boy let out a terrified cry, throwing his head back and trying to jerk away from the strangers.

"Dad!" Tony put a hand over his mouth as the boy thrashed so wildly that two nurses had to hold him down.

His son was in pain. He was crying and calling for him and his fever was too high and he probably had brain damage. Tony forced his voice to stay even as he responded. "I'm right here, Peter. It's okay. They're going to help. It's going to be okay." He murmured, feeling his own eyes heat up. "I'm so sorry, Peter. I'm right here." Peter met his eyes then, just for a second right before his eyes rolled back and he went still, his hand going limp in Tony's and the man felt his stomach drop.

"We gave him morphine." The doctor told him softly, apparently noticing the look on his face as the nurses in the background messed with the tons of wires attached to his son.

The morphine lasted for ten minutes, and then Peter was fighting again, harder this time. Steve had to come in, jaw clenched as he held the boy to the bed. Peter wasn't a weakling or anything...the kid had learned self-defense from the Black Widow and Captain America. Both had trained the boy on several occasions, and Tony had sometimes come home to find the three of them in the gym after the Avengers had made his tower their headquarters. Clint and Natasha didn't always stay, but when they did, Nat would work with Peter on his Russian or Clint would teach him to shoot a bow.

The first time Tony had come home to find his eleven-year-old son in a boxing ring with Captain America, he'd been a little freaked out. Maybe a lot freaked out. He might even have overreacted just a little. But Steve had assured him that he wouldn't let anything happen to Pete, and his son had been having the time of his life, so he'd let them continue.

They'd also taught Peter how to lift weights, and despite occasional trouble with the lingering effects of childhood asthma, Peter was a pretty good runner. Not the best athlete, and he'd never shown any interest in trying out for sports, but he could hold his own if it came to it. Still, it shouldn't have been as hard as it was to hold Peter down, especially not for Steve whose muscles had muscles. Tony kept a hold of Peter's hand, trying not to focus on his cries, or how he threw his head back, obviously in pain.

The doctors kept saying something about the morphine...should have lasted longer. Should have kept him under and pain-free. But it hadn't. The morphine had given the kid ten minutes of relief, and then he'd been back to screaming and sobbing, this time begging someone to make it stop, whatever 'it' was. "What, honey? What's wrong?" Tony all but begged, standing so Peter could see him as if there was anything he could do. As if he could fix this.

"Dad? Dad, it hurts!" He screamed again under the mask, then looked at Captain America who was holding him on the bed, finally seeming to see him. "Steve? Please...please help!"

"I'm right here, son. Helen's on her way. She's going to help, okay? She's going to fix you up." Then they pushed more morphine, and Helen chose that moment to arrive, dressed in her lab coat with her hair in a tight bun, tennis shoes on her feet instead of heels. She dropped her purse in the corner, grabbing Peter's chart and throwing a glance at the monitor beside Peter's head.

Flipping through the papers on his chart, Helen pulled Doctor Benson aside, asking something Tony couldn't hear from where he stood at his son's side. Finally, after a long, too-quiet conversation, the woman nodded, heading over to Peter's side where she placed a gentle hand on his burning forehead. "Tony, we need to get him back to the tower." She murmured, holding up Peter's chart as she stared down at the boy.

"The tower…" Tony repeated, shaking his head, but she kept going, looking back up at him.

"He was bitten by a spider...that's what his chart says." She pointed a finger at the chart, swallowing hard and lowering her voice. "The research they're doing at Oscorp is all about radioactivity and gene mutation."

"He...does that mean…" Steve asked, trailing off a thought that Tony finished in a horrified whisper.

"He's mutating."

She gave a quick nod. "Yes."

"Will he...will he survive?" His thoughts went back to Bruce who couldn't die if he wanted to...who had tried to put a bullet in his own brain...who could still just barely control his transformation. Was that going to happen to his son?

"I don't know. But I'd like to monitor him at the tower in private...the less people know about this, the better." She gestured to the boy who had barely moved and was now breathing deeply under the influence of the drugs. But for how long?

Moving Peter wasn't hard. With a constant morphine drip keeping him under, he was silent the whole way back to the tower where Helen had her team wheel him into the medbay, putting him in a bed in a curtained-off section in the corner. Tony worried about an overdose...Helen admitted she did too, but she told him that she was willing to bet that his metabolism was speeding up enough that he could handle it for a short period of time. Medical equipment hummed to life as her team worked, and through it all, Tony stayed at his side, holding his hand and murmuring that everything was going to be okay. Helen was here. She would save him.

"The fever…" Tony asked, afraid of the question and the answer.

"It's almost to 111. He should be dead." Helen told him, her voice almost flat. He wasn't fooled by her tone. She was just as fond of Peter as the rest of them.

She'd met Tony's son at the last party he'd had at the tower the year before, back when they'd all been together for the last time. Before that, she'd heard a few stories about him...but mostly she'd worked mainly in South Korea and Europe until Tony had finally enticed her into moving to New York courtesy of her own cutting edge lab and a very, very nice salary. She'd seen pictures of Peter, as had her staff who were always happy to ask about Tony's beloved son who he had at least a thousand pictures of on his cellphone at all times. But it hadn't been until the party he'd thrown at the tower that the woman had actually met Peter.

The recreation room had been full of guests, and Peter had spent a lot of the time at the bar with Natasha, doing his homework or reading a book while the adults had mingled. She'd provided him with more soda than Tony wanted him drinking, but he hadn't said anything. Just checked on the boy every few minutes while the rest of them talked. He was sure that Peter had been bored at times, but the other Avengers had all made it a point to stop by where the boy had been sitting, trying to keep him entertained. Then, slowly but surely, the guests had headed home until it was only the Avengers, Dr. Cho, and Agent Hill, all of them gathered on the sofas with Peter at his dad's side.

They'd been trying to lift Thor's hammer, Peter laughing along with the others when Tony couldn't do it with his Iron Man gauntlet. "It's magic, right?" Peter had asked, looking delightedly at Thor who had grinned at the boy.

"That is correct, young Stark. Even if your father refuses to believe it."

Tony had rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "It's not magic. It's just...unexplained science." They'd all laughed, then Peter had jumped up to grab a drink from the kitchen. Dropping back onto the couch and letting someone else have a try, Tony had wished that Pepper was there...that they hadn't been...well...taking a break? She could have lifted it...if the requirement was to be worthy, she would be able to lift it for sure. Before he'd even been able to finish that thought, the noise had come...a high pitched whine that had made everyone pause, drinks partway to their mouths, and Tony had grabbed his tablet, glancing over at the kitchen to find Peter emerging from behind the counter, looking just as confused as the rest of them.

"How could you be worthy? You're all killers?"

"Tony?" Steve had asked, all of them staring at the robot stumbling towards them from the back hallway.

"Dad?" Peter had asked, immediately heeding the hand his father had held up, a silent order to remain where he was.

"JARVIS, reboot." Tony had ordered softly amidst the ramblings of the robot...of Ultron. Around the room, as Ultron had spoken, the others had grabbed their weapons, Thor adjusting his grip on his hammer, Agent Hill cocking her gun, and Tony had gestured with his hand at his side, nodding to Peter who had backed into the kitchen once more. And then the Iron Legion had burst into the room, causing panic and chaos, shots going off and shattering glass.

"Pete, hide, now!" Tony had called, and the boy had dropped, crawling under the dining room table while all around him, their home had been destroyed. He knew Peter still had nightmares about that too...the fight had only lasted a few minutes, but the boy had huddled under the table the whole time, hands on his ears, eyes screwed shut. During the fight, he'd managed to shoot a couple of glances at his son to make sure that none of the Iron Legion had gotten close to him, and somehow, miraculously, nothing had collapsed on him.

Then the fight had been over, Ultron getting away and the Iron Legion deactivated, and there had been a tired, shocked silence while Tony had raced through the rubble to the kitchen where he'd dropped to his knees, reaching under the table and pulling the boy out, noting a cut on his forehead that, to this day, he had no idea how the boy had gotten. He hadn't been crying...Peter didn't cry very often. But he'd been shaking, taking deep, shuddering breaths as his father had sat on the floor among the glass and rubbed his back. "It's okay, honey. It's over. He's gone."

Steve had started to yell...to reprimand him. The others probably had too. And Tony had known that this was at least partially his fault. Thankfully, though, they'd all held off, catching sight of the boy in his arms, face hidden in Tony's shoulder, shaking and not responding to his father's quiet comfort. For a minute, they'd all stood in the doorway to the kitchen, watching him hold the little boy. Later, Steve would actually yell, and Bruce would yell back and Tony would wonder if this team would fall apart...if he and Peter would lose even more family. But for the moment, there had been silence and worry over the boy in Tony's arms.

It had been Thor who had knelt beside them after a moment, a hand landing on Peter's shoulder. The boy had looked up at him then, wide-eyed and afraid, and Thor had smiled that smile that could always calm Peter down.

"You did very well, young Peter, for your first battle." Peter had smiled a little finally, shaking his head and clutching his father.

"I just hid under a table." He'd whispered but Thor had shaken his head solemnly.

"You heeded your father's orders. That was a lesson I did not learn for too long."

Tony had been glad that Thor had been able to coax his son out of his terrified stupor, but he had kept going back to those words. First battle. He didn't want Peter to have a first battle...he didn't want him anywhere near battle! It was one of the reasons he'd created Ultron. Peace. Peace so his little boy could grow up in a world where he didn't have to be afraid of wormholes in New York or aliens attacking his home or any of this!

They'd taken the jet to Clint's farm, Peter huddled against his father, a backpack full of hastily packed clothes sitting at his feet. Natasha had dropped into a chair beside him where he'd hid under his dad's arm and had started a soft conversation with him in Russian. It had taken a little while, but he'd finally seemed to calm down, the corners of his lips lifting at something Natasha said until he was almost laughing. Tony had given her a grateful smile, heart lifting to see his other teammates smiling and relaxing a little when they heard his son giggle.

Then they had stepped into Clint's farmhouse and met Laura...and then two children had come running up to Clint and Tony had been a little offended. He was a father too! He knew about semi-secret families! The man had introduced everyone to his kids, Cooper and Lila, who had shyly said their hellos, and then it had been time for the adults to talk. "Hey, guys, this is Tony's son Peter. Why don't you guys show him around the farm?"

The kids had both nodded, seeming friendly enough, and Tony's son had looked up at him, eyes afraid and questioning and cautious and everything he didn't want his little boy's eyes to be. He was too damn young for this. "Go ahead, buddy." He'd urged.

"Dinner will be ready at six. Make sure you're all back by then." Laura had reminded her own children, and Tony had patted Peter on the back, all of them watching for a moment as the children headed outside and toward one of the barns where Tony assumed horses or cows or emus or something lived. And then the adults had talked.

Before they'd left to take on Ultron, plans decided on and apologies made, Tony had turned to face Laura. "Can Peter…"

"He can stay here with us." She'd assured him, her smile soft, and he'd put a hand on her shoulder.

"Than you." He'd murmured, nodding to Clint who'd just given him a tight smile. Apologies may have been made, but he knew emotions were still raw. It would be a while before they could all forgive one another...before they would be a real team again. And Tony hated that...hated the reminder that, when it came down to it, some of his team still didn't trust him...was ready to mistrust him at the drop of a hat. But that had been a worry for later.

When it had been time to leave, he'd led Peter out of the room and into a back bedroom, leaning down and cupping his face with both hands.

"Please don't go." The boy had begged before he'd gotten a chance to say a word. His son had been dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that he'd gotten dirty at some point, probably while playing outside with Cooper and Lila, hair mussed and dusty. Tony had wondered briefly if his son had been playing in a hayloft...it had been a nice thought. Reaching out, he'd pushed some of the boy's dirty hair out of his face, resting his palm on side of the boy's face.

"I've got to, buddy." He'd murmured, feeling his heart break. He'd left his son so many times, and it never got any easier. Now...he had to do it again. "Duty calls."

"Please, Dad…"

Tony had pulled him close, running a hand through his hair. "I messed up, kiddo." He'd explained softly, pulling the boy over to the bed and sitting down, waiting for Pete to climb up beside him. The twelve-year-old had just listened, wide-eyed. "Bruce and me...we thought we could make this thing...but it all went south and now...now I've got to fix it before people get hurt. And if you're with us, all I'm going to be able to think about is keeping you safe. So I need you to stay here with Mrs. Barton. You'll be safe here."

Peter had sniffed, wiping at his eyes, but then he'd nodded, jaw clenched. "Okay." He'd murmured, and Tony had reached down, kissing the top of his head. He was so proud of his son...of his brave, smart, so good son. He didn't deserve this kid...this kid who had watched him leave so many times. This kid who had nightmares and sobbed at night when he dreamed about Tony leaving and never coming back.

"Please don't leave me, daddy," Peter had begged more than once when Tony had held him after a nightmare, his own eyes wet, face hidden in the boy's hair.

And now he had to leave him. Again.

"I'll be back as soon as I can. I love you." He'd put both hands on the kid's face. "So much, buddy."

"Love you, Dad." Tony had pulled him close once more, trying to memorize the feeling of his son in his arms, the boy's arms squeezing him so tight it almost hurt.

As he'd been walking out the door, Peter had called after him one last time. "Dad...please be careful." Tony had paused then, not missing the looks from the rest of the team. How Steve had dropped his eyes, lips in a tight line. Putting a hand over his mouth, he'd taken a deep breath, then turned with a smile.

"I will, Pete. I promise."

The morphine was burning off too fast, and Helen was too afraid of an overdose to risk keeping him on the high dosage now that Peter was in the medbay. It was only about an hour later that Peter's eyes snapped open, staring blankly at the ceiling once more as he gasped under the mask. "Dad?" He groaned, and Tony pushed his sweaty hair back, wincing at the unnatural heat coming from his son. His fever was still rising.

"I'm here buddy." He murmured. The others were all upstairs in the living room, all but Steve who had stayed behind. He didn't say why, but they all knew it was to help hold the boy down if he started fighting them. One of the nurses had brought up restraints but Tony had vetoed the idea immediately, giving the man a look that had expressed his feelings pretty well considering the fact that the nurse had kept quiet ever since.

"Dad?" Peter asked, more flecks of blood dotting his lips as he coughed, eyes closing tightly in pain.

"Yeah, Pete." Peter just blinked at him, eyes rolling back as he slumped back onto the pillows, still coughing into the mask on his face.

"Dad? Where...?" He murmured again before going silent, and Tony looked up at Helen, helpless.

"He's mutating. I've looked at his blood samples." Waving her hand at a holographic screen on the wall, she pointed at something he could barely make sense of. Standing and gently setting his son's hand down, he moved over to look while Steve stayed at the boy's side. "That's his DNA...and that's altered arachnid DNA."

"So...he's going to be a spider?" Tony asked, shaking his head. He didn't care. The kid could grow four extra limbs and he'd still love him more than anything.

The doctor almost smiled, but it was sad. "That...doesn't seem likely. I doubt he will turn into an entirely different species." Helen told him carefully. "More likely he will gain extra abilities. But without any known previous studies done on spider mutations in humans, there is no way to know for sure." Tony didn't care. As long as Peter was alive, he could live with whatever 'extra abilities' his son developed.

"What about that fever? It's over 111...he was acting like he didn't recognize me."

"We don't know if the fever will cause permanent damage...he's mutating so quickly." She shook her head and made a gesture, he holographic screen morphing into another one. "His fever isn't going down...he's burning through everything we give him. I don't know how much more he can take, and I don't want to risk an overdose." She put a hand over her mouth, sighing, then turning to Tony. "I want to call in a colleague of mine."

"Colleague?" Tony asked dubiously, and she nodded.

"Dr. Stephen Strange." He blinked, glancing back at his son who was too still in that hospital bed, an oxygen mask strapped to his face, Steve Rogers sitting in a chair at his bedside, looking like he was losing hope...like he was getting ready to say goodbye.

"The neurosurgeon?"

"Yes...he's one of the best doctors in the country...in the world."

"I thought he joined a cult or something…"

"No...he's not practicing in the US anymore, but he can be here...pretty quickly."

Tony trusted Helen implicitly. So if she wanted to call Stephen Strange...if she thought he could help, then he was ready to try it. "Okay...whatever. I don't care. Call whoever you want...just…" He gestured to his son and she nodded, dropping a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I'm going to do everything I can, Tony. I promise."

He was so tired of people telling him that.


	5. Stranger Things

Stranger Things

Doctor Stephen Strange had heard of Tony Stark. Of course, he had. Everyone in the world surely had by this point. And he supposed that, if he thought about it, he could remember hearing a son mentioned. He didn't pay too much attention to men like Tony Stark...men who lived in the limelight and who courted fame. The man flew around in a suit of armor acting like a superhero. And yes, Stephen would admit that he too had enjoyed the limelight on occasion. But he put human bodies back together. Saved lives in hospitals. Discovered revolutionary medical advances. He worked with the human brain! Tony Stark make suits out of metal.

Okay, maybe upon re-examining his thoughts on the man, he may have been wrong about that. Iron Man had saved lives too. The Avengers had done some real good...saved people. Stabilized foreign relations. Whatever. It wasn't like Stephen was swimming in free time to keep up with the antics of Stark and his Avengers. He'd seen interviews...knew that Tony was, if not a bad person, at least arrogant. Unlikeable. Narcissistic. In his mind, he thought he could hear a certain woman laughing at the idea of him calling someone else a narcissist. 

It had only been a few weeks since he'd taken over the position of Sorcerer Supreme, and Wong was still filling him in on his many new responsibilities. Between keeping an eye out for intergalactic threats and continuing his study of the mystic arts, he hadn't spent a lot of time keeping up with the outside world. Most of his time was devoted to his studies, both new and old. The mystic arts and the cutting edge of medical research. So when he missed a call from Doctor Helen Cho who he had worked with on a few occasions, he checked the news online to see if there might be a reason that the Avenger's doctor needed him. A war he hadn't heard about? Small-time alien invasion? Loki again?

But the news regarding the Avengers had been oddly quiet since Stark had created and then destroyed his murderous AI. A few short articles on their latest heroics. An interview or two with Captain America or Stark. So he called her back, idly staring at a book written in Arabic with a tablet that had google translate up. There were always new spells to learn. "Doctor Strange?"

"Hello, Doctor Cho." He greeted, sandwiching the phone between his ear and his shoulder and starting to type some of the words into google translate. His Arabic was getting better, but still not good enough to translate without google. "How can I help you. Does Captain America have a brain tumor? Someone get a traumatic brain injury?"

"Doctor Strange, it's Stark." Stephen rolled his eyes a little. 

"Stark...Tony Stark? What, has he built another AI hellbent on destroying all of humanity." Not that Stephen wouldn't help, but it would be a pain.

"No. Doctor, it's his son."

"I still can't understand why you work for that arrogant asshole.." He murmured, half listening as he typed. He'd seen an interview or two with Stark...well, from a few years ago. Back when he'd still been a weapon's dealer. And the one where he'd told the whole world about his secret identity.

"Stephen!" He paused, dropping his fingers and staring at the phone for a second at her tone. Angry. Desperate. Qualities he'd never ascribe to Doctor Helen Cho. The woman was one of the best. Unflappable. Confident...brilliant. It was probably the reason Stark had wanted her. "I need your help. You're a better surgeon than me, and Tony's son is very, very sick." He paused at that, letting her words sink in. Son. Tony Stark had a son. Stephen closed the book, sighing and figuring he wasn't going to get anymore studying done. 

"What happened to him?" He asked, wondering what the child of Tony Stark could have gotten into that would require Stephen's expertise. 

"The boy was on a field trip to Oscorp and was bitten by a spider who had been the subject of genetic and radioactive experiments. When his father returned home a few hours later, the boy had a fever of over 104, and it's been rising ever since. He's coughing up blood. Severe radiation poisoning. His fever is currently at 111."

"He should be dead," Stephen told her, knowing that she knew it as well. Humans couldn't survive that kind of fever. Not for long.

Her response was soft...almost afraid. "I know. He seized for less than 3 minutes on a few occasions before I arrived, but was conscious not too long ago. We've been pushing the standard dose of morphine for a child his size but he's burning it off too quickly. He was asking for his father, but Tony was unable to get him to respond...he acted like he didn't recognize him."

"He was conscious and speaking with a temperature of 111?" Stephen shook his head even though it wasn't a video call. "There must be a malfunction in your equipment."

"I'm asking you to come and look for yourself." He sighed, looking around the sanctum library where he'd been studying. "Please, Stephen. I know you don't think very highly of Tony Stark, but his son…". She trailed off, voice faltering, and he realized this was personal. She cared about the boy.

"How old is the child?"

"Fourteen." Stephen sighed, wondering if he was going soft as he stood from the table.

"Where are you?"

"Avenger's Tower Medbay."

"I'll be right there."

Doctor Strange hadn't been kidding. The man stepped into the room from the hallway less than three minutes after hanging up, having only stopped to let Wong know that he would be stepping out for a moment. He glanced around the medbay and was taken aback when he spotted Tony Stark, genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, who had never been seen in public in anything less than immaculate condition...unless he had just finished saving the world or breaking up an arms deal or whatever he got up to these days. But this man had disheveled hair and red eyes, one of his hands clasping the hand of a young, pale boy in a hospital bed, a monitor beside him showing a temperature of 111.2, an oxygen mask with flecks of blood over his face. The man didn't even look up, focusing instead on the boy.

"C'mon, Pete. I'm right here, buddy. It's going to be fine. We're getting a new fancy doctor friend of Helen's and we're gonna fix you up." He whispered, keeping up the litany of soft reassurances.

On the other side of the boy's bed, Captain Steve Rogers stood from his chair, holding out a hand that Stephen took in one of his own, wishing he was a little less self-conscious about the shaking in his fingers. If Captain Rogers noticed, he didn't say anything.

"Doctor Strange." The doctor introduced himself.

"Steve Rogers."

"Nice to meet you, Captain Rogers."

"Just Steve, please." Stephen nodded, turning to Helen who had entered the room, folder in hand.

"Peter's file." She murmured, holding it out, and he flipped through it. No serious medical conditions until this point. Childhood asthma but he'd had no trouble for at least four years. And then there were the reports from the blood samples taken within the last few hours.

"His blood…" He murmured, leaning in to get a closer look. "He's...he's mutating?"

"Yes." His stomach dropped a little and he pressed his lips together, shaking his head.

"I...Helen, this isn't something I'm familiar with." He told her, almost gently. Dr. Banner would have been the man to ask...but Dr. Banner was gone. "At this point, I don't even know…" He trailed off, doing his best to keep his voice down, not wanting the other men in the room to hear. He caught Captain America flinching though, so he guessed he didn't speak softly enough.

"Stephen...just..." Helen glanced back at the boy, and Stephen followed her gaze, staring at the man he'd only ever seen on TV holding his son's hand. Tony Stark had yet to look up at him, his entire being focused on the boy in the bed. He'd never seen Stark like that...never seen him look so desperate. So...broken. He sighed, pushing his hair back. He could at least try...try to save this child. His mind wandered for a second to the cases he hadn't taken over the years...the people he hadn't even tried to save when he'd been too afraid of hurting his reputation.

He would try to save Peter Stark.

"Okay...okay." He put the chart down. "Do you have an MRI machine in this place?" Helen nodded. "Good. Get an MRI. We'll check brain function. Then start injecting cold saline."

"We already…"

"Keep pushing the saline. Fever reducers. Make sure he's staying hydrated." He wasn't telling her anything she didn't know, but he could have swore that Stark looked comforted. "Get a bath ready...room temperature water. I don't want him going into shock." Nurses hurried to follow his orders and Helen gently placed her hand on Stark's shoulder, urging him to take a step away from the boy so that the nurses could work.

"Tony, we're going to get an MRI. Why don't you go upstairs and get something to eat?" She glanced at Steve who nodded and stepped in.

"Go ahead, Tony. I'll stay here in case they need me." Stephen wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean. Why would they need Captain America? The man wasn't a doctor. Still, Stark was shaking his head, eyes still searching out the boy who was being rolled away by the nurses.

"No...I...I need to stay with him." Stephen took a deep breath, meeting Helen's gaze. Then, stepping forward, he held out a hand that Stark stared at for a moment before taking.

"I apologize, Doctor Stark. We haven't been properly introduced. I'm Doctor Stephen Strange."

"Just Tony. Thank you for coming, Doctor." The billionaire nodded in greeting, jaw too tight as his eyes darted back to his son once more. Stephen spoke again, trying to keep his attention for a moment.

"I need to do an MRI and a couple of other tests on his brain function. I'm going to try and find out if any damage has been done. WIth a fever as high as his, there is a significant risk of brain damage, but because of the mutations in his DNA...well...I'm not an expert in gene mutation. But I'm going to do my best. It would be best for you to step out for an hour or so so that I can complete my scans and run some additional tests. He will be unconscious as we are giving him a continuous morphine drip, and if he awakens, I will have someone get you immediately."

"But...what if he overdoses?" Stark asked, brown eyes wide and so afraid. Stephen had never seen the man like this...so afraid and desperate for help. He always seemed to unflappable on TV. So cocky. Still, Stephen tried to dismiss those thoughts along with all his other preconceived notions about the man. He had a child to try and save.

"His body is burning through the drugs quickly enough that I'm not worried about keeping him on a steady drip for a short period of time." He explained, voice a little less detached than he would have liked in the face of the superhero's fear. "I'm sure your team would like an update on his condition," Stephen spoke softly, the voice he used on patients just waking from a coma or children about to undergo frightening medical procedures.

It worked. Stark nodded, moving over to the boy's side and reaching down for a moment to brush his son's hair back, completely ignoring the nurses who stepped slightly out of his way. "Alright, kiddo. I'm gonna run upstairs. I'll be right back, though. Okay?" He paused for a second like he was waiting for the teenager to respond. The kid remained motionless, though, and Tony placed his hand carefully back onto the bed, giving Steve Rogers a look before walking over to the elevator and disappearing.

Steve stayed where he was by Peter's bed, arms crossed, and Stephen grabbed the tablet with all of Peter's information, trying not to let show on his face how underprepared he was for this. This boy was mutating...the radiation poisoning was advancing too quickly and the kid was burning up, his body working so hard to fight it off that it was burning him alive. "Is he going to be okay?" Steve Rogers asked while Stephen typed on the tablet, Helen scurrying around him to prepare Peter for an MRI, placing small sticky circles to his head that would measure for brain activity. He noticed her pause while Stephen and Steve faced one another, her hand resting on the boy's shoulder.

"I don't know." Doctor Strange told him, wishing Christine was with him. She always had a better bedside manner...he just fixed the people's brains. And he didn't know if Peter needed his brain fixed. Or if it could even be fixed. With a fever like the one he had, the kid had to have brain damage. But Doctor Strange had no idea if he could fix it, no matter how much money Tony Stark was willing to offer him. Steve Rogers stiffened, jaw tight as he dropped his eyes to the floor. "I'm going to get an MRI...it should tell me if his brain is still functioning."

"And if it's not?" Rogers asked.

"Then I won't be able to help him." Doctor Strange tried to temper his voice...tried to make it gentle, but Rogers dropped his head, a hand covering his mouth as he reached out a hand, touching Peter's shoulder.

"He was talking." Steve murmured. "Just...just an hour ago."

Stephen nodded. "That's a good sign." He told the man, even though, considering the fever, he had no idea how the boy could have been conscious. "Doctor Cho, let's get him into the machine. Keep an eye on his morphine levels. He's burning it off fast but we can't have him overdosing." Helen nodded, unlocking the wheels on the boy's bed and rolling it toward the MRI machine apparently housed in another room.

"How long will it take?" Steve Rogers wanted to know, voice tight.

"45 minutes." Captain America followed them as they hurried into another room, Helen situating Peter in the MRI machine and Stephen adjusting the controls. The boy was still, silent, and without asking permission, Rogers went over to the boy's side, placing a hand over his.

"Can I stay with him?"

Stephen glanced over at Helen, then nodded. "Yes. Of course. Don't move him, but you can stay with him." He nodded, slipping his hand into Peter's and squeezing. Stephen and Helen went to the other side of the machine where the laptop sat, turning it on, and the hum of the machine filled the room. Steve sat beside the boy, squeezing his hand.

"It's alright, son." Captain America murmured, a thumb rubbing over the back of the boy's hand. "You're going to be alright. I'm right here. Your dad's just upstairs...he's been by your side the whole time, and I'm here now. I won't let anything happen to you." The man closed his eyes, lips pressed tight together. "Don't worry, Pete. You're safe."

He wasn't, though. Not necessarily. Stephen knew saying that out loud wouldn't be of any help, though, so he kept quiet. The boy was in a lot of danger. He was an otherwise healthy fourteen-year-old boy with a good immune system and a dad willing to use all of his endless resources to keep him safe. But this radiation poisoning was extreme. And if he was mutating...it might be too much for his body to take, especially considering the fever.

Doctor Strange stared at the screen that slowly began to form an image of the boy's brain activity, feeling his heart start to sink after only ten or fifteen minutes, during which Captain America sat stiffly at Peter's side, holding the boy's hand and promising over and over again that everything was okay. Stephen had been right. Brain damage. Brain damage that no one would ever recover from. If the child lived, he would be in a vegetative state for the rest of his life. This child was smart...had been smart. That's what Stephen had been able to find out from his file and what little Helen had told him. A straight-A student going to a gifted school already building robots and computers. All of it...gone. Tony Stark had lost his son.

Stephen did his best to keep that knowledge off of his face, but he could tell from looking at Helen's rapidly filling eyes that she knew it too. Of course she did. She was one of the best doctors he knew, and he knew a lot of doctors. She placed a hand over her mouth, taking a deep breath and swallowing, turning her face away from him. Steve Rogers turned then, eyes widening just a little when he saw Helen, and Stephen watched his hand tighten around Peter, shaking his head. "Doctor Strange…" He murmured, and the doctor dropped his eyes, taking a deep breath. "No," Rogers whispered.

"It looks like the brain damage is…" Doctor Strange swallowed hard. "Captain, we don't have a full picture yet. The scan still has to run for about twenty more minutes. It's possible…"

"He's going to be fine." Steve snapped, turning back to Peter and dropping his head on the bed beside the boy. "You're going to be fine, Peter. I'm right here. Don't be scared." He whispered, voice breaking. "I'm right here buddy."

It didn't matter, though. Stephen knew that much. It didn't matter if Steve Rogers was there...the boy was gone. His brain, the thing that made Peter the boy that the Avengers apparently all loved, was damaged beyond repair. Fried. Almost dead. His organs were most likely shutting down...they could probably keep the child's body alive, but he would never wake up. Never speak again. Never return any of that love.

"Stephen…" Helen whispered after a moment, and he turned back, ready to try and comfort her as best he could. It wasn't his area of expertise. Christine had always been better at that. But she obviously loved Peter. And he was sorry. Sorry that a fourteen-year-old boy was early dead and that there was nothing he could do about it. "Stephen, look." He sighed, turning to the screen.

"Doctor Cho, I…"

"Stephen, look." She hissed, pointing at the picture of the boy's brain on the screen.

"What the hell?" He murmured, catching Captain America's attention. The man turned to look at them once more, hand squeezing Peter's. "It's…" He murmured, glancing over at Helen. She nodded.

"His brain is healing itself." She whispered.

"What?" Steve asked from the other side of the room, his hand still holding the boy's. Strange leaned in a little, watching the screen.

"The mutation," Stephen explained, not quite understanding all of it himself. But the picture on the screen spoke for itself. "It's...it's healing his brain. That's the only explanation."

The mutation was killing this child.

But not as quickly as it was healing him.


	6. Waiting It Out

Waiting It Out

Tony glanced around the common room and found the rest of the team sitting on the sofas, the TV on the news in the background. No one seemed to be watching, though. Natasha was the first to spot him, and then they were all turning to him as he grabbed a granola bar from a box on the kitchen counter, the minimum requirement for food, and a bottle of water, dropping onto the only free sofa. He didn't want to sit with the others. Didn't want to talk or explain or do anything except be with his son. But Peter needed tests. That doctor needed to do scans and examine Peter and see if he was going to be okay. And he would. He would be okay. Besides, Steve was staying with him. He'd protect Peter.

"Tony? How is he?" Rhodey asked, leaning in.

Rhodey...Peter called him Uncle Rhodey. The man had helped him raise Peter. From that first meeting, he'd been there. He'd taken Peter out for ice cream and held the child on his lap. He'd taken him to his first theme park. Taught him to swim, and played with him at the beach. There was a picture on the bookcase of Peter, probably around seven years old, sitting on the beach next to Rhodey, a huge sandcastle in front of him. Rhodey had been there when Tony hadn't. And Tony would never stop being grateful. But how could he tell Peter's godfather and his best friend what was happening to the boy?

Tony shook his head, sighing and trying to hold it together. He had to hold it together. Peter was alive. He was alive. His son was going to be fine. "Um...his fever is still rising. Helen called Stephen Strange and the guy showed up a few minutes later, so either he was hiding in our broom closet or the rumors of him being in a magical cult were true." He shrugged, running a hand over his face and smiling without humor. "He's going to run some tests…do an MRI."

"Is Steve still with him?" Natasha asked.

"Yeah...he...he was trying to take the oxygen mask off...Steve had to hold him down." Swallowing as much of the water as he could in one gulp, he tossed the wrapper into the wastebasket and stood, legs feeling like rubber. He wanted to lie down. He wanted to sleep so that all of this would go away. He wanted to hold his son and kiss his head and hear the boy tell him that he was okay. "Dr. Strange said it could take up to an hour so I'm gonna…." He gestured at the hallway, giving a halfhearted wave and heading for his room, leaving the others in silence.

Peter's bedroom was right across from his, and he paused at the open door. Peter was surprisingly good at keeping his room clean for a fourteen-year-old boy, and Tony stepped inside, looking around. A half-finished LEGO Millenium Falcon, which Tony had gotten him for his birthday, was sitting in the corner where he and his friend Ned had been working on it the weekend before. On one desk were his school books, his backpack leaning against his desk chair, and on the other, a computer lay in parts Peter had scavenged from thrift stores and dumpsters.

It would be the third computer Peter had built so far, and his robot, Yoda, was down in Tony's lab with Dum-E and U. Tony couldn't say much about the name...he'd named his first robot Dum-E. Yoda wasn't much, just a three-pronged claw attached to a green arm that had pretty limited motor function and could only respond to basic commands, but Peter had only been ten when he'd finished him. Ever since, he'd been mostly focusing on building computers, which he studied at his school. He was also in his school's robotics club. Tony went to every competition. Every decathlon meet. Every science fair. Every parent-teacher conference where his teachers gave the boy glowing reviews and Peter shrank in his seat from embarrassment at his Dad's bragging.

But Peter might still die.

Tony leaned on the desk, brushing a finger over one of the computer parts. Tony gave him an allowance that Peter mostly spent on snack food at school, the occasional trip to the movies with Ned and, as he could see in the boy's room, thrift store electronics. After if Tony didn't have a state of the art lab filled with amazing technology just a few floors away that Peter was always welcome to work from. Instead, his son liked to search through dumpsters...actual dumpsters, and thrift stores. Tony always rolled his eyes. Sometimes he chuckled at what his kid had managed to find. Once, he'd come home with an old rotary phone and had asked Tony if he remembered the first telephone, a cheeky grin on his face.

Peter was almost done with this computer, one he'd build from spare parts and a casing that Tony had helped him make, and it still rivaled almost anything available on the market. He wanted to build an AI like FRIDAY next, and Tony had promised to help him program it. "I've never done anything that complicated before...and I know you've been really busy, but…" Peter had started, and immediately Tony had put his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Of course I'll help you, Pete. We'll start as soon as school's out. Okay?" Peter had nodded, excitement already brewing, and had taken off to text Ned.

What if he never got to finish this computer? What if he never learned how to program an AI or see the new Star Wars movie or go on his first date or...Tony shook his head, swallowing back nausea. No. His son wasn't going to die. Not now.

Tony moved over to the other desk, glancing down at his books. It looked like Peter had dropped his backpack and books and went right to bed. He knew the rules...homework first, then whatever else he wanted to do. Tony would sometimes check it over, but he rarely had to worry. So Peter had been feeling bad since he'd gotten home from school. Maybe before. Why hadn't his son called him?

Tony knew why, of course. Knew that Peter never wanted to bother him while he was working...while he was in meetings, either for the company or for the Avengers. He'd been that way since he was little...always somehow aware that Tony was Important and Busy and not to be disturbed, no matter how many times Tony had assured him that he wanted Peter to tell him when something was wrong, no matter what it was. If he was hurt or scared or sick. He remembered Peter's first asthma attack, back when the boy had been seven or eight...sometime before he'd managed to fix the arc reactor but after becoming Iron Man. Jarvis had informed him that Peter was having trouble breathing and he'd dropped everything, racing upstairs to find the boy on his floor, one hand clutching his throat, another scratching at the floor.

"Peter? Pete!" Tony had cried, dropping to his knees beside Peter and touching the boy on the back. "Jarvis, what's wrong with him?"

Peter's lips had been turning blue, eyes huge and desperate, and his tiny hand had grabbed at Tony, clutching his jacket. "Da...daddy...I…" He'd tried, but he'd been unable to get enough air to speak.

Tony had rushed the boy to the hospital in the suit and had learned that the boy had asthma. He'd also learned that Peter had been feeling strange all day...and that his breathing had been difficult for almost an hour. "You have to tell someone if you're feeling sick, Pete." Tony had reprimanded the boy, trying to keep his voice gentle so as not to make him think that Tony was angry with him, especially considering he'd been hooked up to some kind of breathing machine.

On the boy's bedside table was a picture of Peter with Tony, his dad's arm thrown around him, both of them grinning as they stood next to the Iron Man armor. There was another one of Peter with his Mom in the drawer that Tony didn't open. He knew that Peter pulled it out sometimes, but Tony never had. He didn't remember Mary Parker. He'd obviously been drunk when they'd been together...she probably had been too.

Straightening the covers of his son's bed with hands that needed to be doing something, Tony paused when he saw the boy's cellphone on his bedside table, face up and showing three missed calls. Picking it up, he flipped through them. He never read Peter's texts, but Peter didn't mind him keeping tabs on who was calling him. He had FRIDAY alert him any time a reporter or other strangers somehow got his son's number. It wasn't surprising that all three missed calls were from Ned, and Tony pressed the callback button. It was nearly eleven pm, but he assumed Ned would still be awake.

His son's best and possibly only good friend answered on the first ring. "Pete? Thank god, man. I thought…"

"Ned? This is Tony." Tony cut him off gently, running a hand through his hair and dropping onto the boy's bed.

"Mr. Stark?" He closed his eyes for a second when his son's friend went from relieved to frightened.

"Yeah, kiddo. Peter's, um...he's pretty sick."

"He...oh shit, uh, shoot, sorry...Mr. Stark, he was feeling bad on the way back from the field trip and I was going to call you but he insisted he was fine and…" Ned trailed off, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "Is he...is he okay, Mr. Stark?"

"I don't know, Ned," Tony admitted. "We've got the best doctors here looking after him." For a minute, Ned was quiet. Then the boy spoke again, his voice subdued.

"Can I see him?"

"How about I text you tomorrow? We'll see how he's feeling?"

"Okay...um...thank you for letting me know, Mr. Stark." He murmured.

Hanging up, Tony put the phone back on his son's bedside table, looking for another minute at the picture and then went back to his own room, shutting the door softly behind him and then jumping into the shower and taking the quickest one he could.

When he was done, he called Pepper, listening to the phone ring three times before she picked up. "Hey, Tony. Isn't it kind of late there?" She asked as soon as she picked up, and he could hear the smile in her voice. Their relationship had been...strained for a while, but they were doing their best to work through it. Peter loved her, and so did Tony. They'd been planning on taking a trip together in a few months, and Peter had promised he would be fine staying at the tower with the rest of the Avengers for a week. Steve, in particular, had promised to keep a close eye on him.

Now he might not have to.

"Pep…" He stammered a little and his voice broke. "It's Peter."

"What?" She demanded. "Tony, what's wrong?"

"He was...he was bitten by a spider and...he's sick. He's so sick…"

"What? Where are you?" She asked, frantic. Pepper loved Peter. Loved him like a son, despite the strained relationship she and Tony often had. Peter adored her, but when she'd left them, Peter had come into the lab, throwing his arms around his father and burying his face in his shoulder. 'We have each other.'

Pepper had been freaked out by his night terrors...and so had Tony. He'd been terrified that he would accidentally hurt her...that he would accidentally call the suit and that it would attack her before he got the chance to call it off. So when he'd gone to sleep one night when Pepper hadn't been staying with them...when she'd been staying at a hotel instead, Tony had been almost relieved. He could sleep without worrying about hurting her. He hadn't counted on his son trying to wake him up from a night terror...he hadn't counted on jerking awake and finding his son pressed against the headboard, eyes huge as he'd stared into the repulsor from the Iron Man suit Tony had once more called in his sleep.

"No!" Tony had practically screamed, gesturing for the armor to disengage, and then he'd been throwing his arms around his son. "Peter? Are you okay?" He'd asked, shaking as he'd held the boy, heart pounding. The armor could have...he could have...he'd struggled to even think it.

"Yeah...Daddy, what's wrong?" Peter had asked from where his face had been pressed into his shoulder, miraculously unshaken as his father had fought back tears.

"Did it hurt you? I didn't mean to, buddy." Peter had furrowed his brow in that serious, sweet way of his, cocking his head. This had been right after he'd fixed the problem with his arc reactor...after New York when the Avengers had first formed. The ten-year-old had seemed so confused.

"You wouldn't hurt me." The boy had told him, sounding incredulous. And despite all of his many mistakes, Tony had been so, so grateful that that, at least, had been true. Even when he'd been drunk, he'd never wanted to hurt Peter. Never even considered hitting the boy. And Peter knew it.

"No...no, I wouldn't." He had murmured, stroking his hair. "What are you doing out of bed, Pete?"

"You were yelling...were you having a nightmare?" Tony had swallowed hard before nodding.

"Yeah...yeah, buddy. I was."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Tony had started to shake his head, and Peter had leaned his head on his shoulder. "You always make me talk about it, and it always makes me feel better." Tony had choked out a laugh, pulling Peter closer and leaning against his pillow.

"You're a smart kid, you know that?" He'd whispered, and Peter had yawned, curling up at his father's side. Tony had pulled the covers over him, resting his head on his pillow and making sure the boy was comfortable before continuing. "The wormhole...the one I flew the bomb into? I have nightmares about it sometimes." He had admitted, knowing that he shouldn't be burdening his son with this, but also feeling so alone without Pepper or the team...Rhodey had been busy with meetings in DC and the house had felt so big and lonely...so he'd dropped it all on his kid. "I have nightmares that I'm in the wormhole again and I can't get out."

"That sounds really scary." The boy had murmured, curling up closer to him, gripping his shirt more tightly.

"It is." Tony had choked out, staring up at the ceiling with hot eyes. A tear had dripped down his cheek, running down his face, but he'd just held Peter, not willing to let the boy go.

"I'm sorry. You're safe now, though." Tony had smiled, lips trembling. "You're Iron Man...you keep me safe, so you'll be safe too."

"That's right, Pete. I'm going to keep you safe." He'd promised.

"Did Pepper leave because you had nightmares?" Peter had asked then.

"No...I mean...something like that. She's sleeping somewhere else for a while because...well, because of the nightmares." He hadn't elaborated. Hadn't wanted to explain PTSD to his son. Hadn't wanted Peter to know that he sometimes had panic attacks.

"That's not fair. You can't help it."

"She was scared." He had tried to excuse her. He didn't want Peter to think less of Pepper...not on his account. He loved her, and so did Peter. He didn't think that would ever change.

"Why? You wouldn't hurt her." Peter had insisted. Tony had shaken his head, cheek on his son's head.

"I know. It's going to be okay, honey. It'll all work out." Peter had yawned, and Tony remembered pressing a kiss to his son's forehead. "Get some sleep, buddy. We can talk in the morning, okay?"

"Okay. I'll stay so you don't have any more nightmares." Tony had clenched his jaw, turning his head so that the tears wouldn't fall on Peter's head.

"Thanks, Petey."

Pepper promised to come right away...she'd cancel her meetings. Cancel everything. Take the private jet and be there in 6 hours, give or take.

Peter had caught him having a panic attack less than a week later in his lab. The boy had just arrived home from school and had practically skipped into the lab. Tony had been on the floor, hand on his chest, another gripping the table when his son had come to a sudden halt in the doorway. "Dad?" He'd asked, obviously worried.

"Not now, buddy." Tony had gasped out, not wanting to hurt his feelings but also not wanting the kid around him when he was like that. When he couldn't quite catch his breath and his heart pounded. A heart attack, he'd wondered the first time. Now he knew. Panic attack. A common symptom of PTSD.

"Daddy? Are you okay?" The boy had asked, inching closer, voice shaking.

"Pete…". He'd mumbled, starting to shake his head, but the boy had come closer anyway.

"Jarvis?"

"Your father is experiencing a panic attack."

"Oh." The boy had murmured, then moved to kneel beside him, dropping his backpack on the ground and holding out a hesitant hand but not touching. "Can...can I help?" Tony's heart had raced in his chest and he'd had to fight the urge to scream...to tell the boy to get out! Instead, he'd closed his eyes, hating that he was the cause of his son's fear.

"It may help for you to talk to him." The AI had suggested. Peter had sat cross-legged beside him on the floor then, and later Tony would marvel at the boy's ability to stay calm...to help even when he was probably scared to death.

"Um...so, Auntie Nat is supposed to come over tomorrow and she promised that we would have more Russian lessons. She said I'm really good...and I think she's going to bring over a book for me to try and read. I'm better at speaking it because Russian had a weird alphabet and even the letters that look normal don't sound the same." Tony's lips had rigged into a smile at that, and, encouraged, Peter had kept going. "Uncle Rhodey promised that he'd take me out for ice cream too, as long as you said it was okay. He said that you might come too...if you're not busy."

Peter had kept speaking. Tony couldn't remember what all his son had talked to him about that evening. All he knew was that he'd sat there, fighting to control his breathing as he'd listened to Peter prattle on about school and computers and probably Star Wars until his chest had loosened and he'd reached out, tugging the boy to his chest. "Thank you, Peter." He'd murmured, holding him as close as he could.

"I get scared sometimes too." The boy had told him, face pressed against his shoulder. "It's okay. If...if you ever get scared like that again, I can help." He'd said with all the confidence of a child. And, oddly, Tony had believed him. Had known that his son would always be able to calm him...would always have enough patience and love for him. But he'd also known that his son shouldn't bear that kind of burden alone, so he'd scheduled an appointment with a therapist later that week. Of course, that had been before his house had been destroyed and he'd ended up meeting Harley, another little boy, just a few years older than his own.

Peter had been terrified. Distraught. More frightened than any child should ever be, and when Tony had been able to return home after fixing that mess, he'd taken the boy to Disney World. It had taken the boy a full two days to let him out of his sight, practically climbing into his arms every chance he got. Tony hadn't blamed him...he'd wanted his son in his sight at all times too.

After two weeks at the happiest place on earth, they'd gone on to New York where he'd begun renovating the tower which was where they would move permanently. His son had met Ned on his first day at his new school, and, since he'd seemed to like New York and it was a lot closer to DC for Tony's business with the Avengers, he had decided that they would stay for good. Although he had bought a vacation house in California that they still vacationed at every year.

Tony managed to stay upstairs for an hour and three minutes before he was taking the elevator back down to the Medbay where he found Peter back in his bed, monitors attached to his chest and more needles in his arms. His cheeks were flushed, and when Tony touched his forehead, he almost flinched at the heat. The monitor beside his bed said 112.1, and he took the boy's hand in his own. "I'm back, honey. You're okay. I'm right here." Peter didn't open his eyes, but he rubbed his thumb over the back of his son's hand anyway. "You're going to be just fine. Dr. Strange and Dr. Cho are both here. They're going to fix you up, buddy."

Both doctors entered the room after a moment, waiting in the doorway before Tony turned to acknowledge them, not bothering to wipe his eyes. "What do you think?"

"Fever still rising, but not as quickly as before. The morphine is keeping him under, but we're giving him a lot...more than he should need." Helen told him.

"We think it's the mutation." Dr. Strange spoke up. "It's like nothing I've ever seen before. There was brain damage...quite a bit." Tony felt his heart stutter. Brain damage? What did that mean? What kind of brain damage? He thought of the nearly-finished computer in his son's room and his straight As and the smile on the boy's face when he would look up at his father...the way he'd throw his arms around Tony even now, at fourteen, and tell him that he loved him, and he wanted to throw up.

But then the man went on. "But..and this is the strange part, his brain is healing itself at an incredible rate. Faster than anything I've ever seen. At this stage, Peter should be in organ failure, but his organs are repairing themselves as quickly as the damage is being done."

"So he's...he's okay?" Tony asked, voice cracking a little. He was afraid to believe that, and the doctor looked just as baffled as he felt.

"Yes. It seems as though he's okay for the moment. We're still concerned about the fever. Nothing we've done so far has been able to bring it down. All we can do at the moment is wait."

So, with nothing else to do, Tony took Peter's hand and made himself comfortable in the chair beside his son's bed. Steve, who had kept back, arms crossed, moved to sit on Peter's other side, leaning back in his chair and staring at the floor. "Alright, buddy. If the doctor says all we can do is wait, then we'll wait. I'll be right here."


	7. Awake and Alive

Awake and Alive

Peter felt strange. Really strange. One moment he was miserable and hot and maybe throwing up...he had a memory of throwing up blood at one point, which was terrifying and not something he ever wanted to do again, and the next he was staring at the ceiling, feeling just fine. Better than fine. Better than he'd ever felt in his life. Well...tired. He was really tired. Tired, but fine. For a moment, he stared at the ceiling in wonder, eyes suddenly zeroed in on every crack and imperfection. He hadn't been wearing his contact lenses...he knew because if he woke up in his contacts, his eyes were always dry and gritty...he must have taken them out. But he could see just fine!

He wasn't in his bedroom...the ceiling was too high. Plus he could hear a constant beeping and something was poking him in the arm and there were footsteps somewhere and someone breathing and another person snoring...the beeping got faster then, and he wondered why. He was in the Medbay...at the tower. But why? He vaguely remembered being sick, but sick enough for his dad to take him to the Medbay? This was the room for when the Avengers were hurt. Why hadn't his dad taken him to the doctor? Or had he? He remembered a different room, but not very well. Mostly just his dad being there...or yelling for his dad. Something about his dad.

The man in question was at his side, slumped over in a chair asleep, head resting on the wall beside him. His breaths were long and even, but Peter knew that that position couldn't have been comfortable. He thought about waking him, but he had no idea what time it was...it was dark outside. On his other side was Steve, head on his chest, arms crossed as he, too, slumped back in his chair. He didn't know who was approaching, but his dad and Steve were right next to him, and they'd protect him. He never had to be afraid when they were with him.

Bringing up a hand and flinching when it pulled at a needle in his arm, he found an oxygen mask pressed against his mouth. Starting to pull it off, he paused when the stranger appeared in the room, making his heart rate spike. It was dark in the big room. Too dark for him to see. But he could, somehow! He could see the man's face, every hair on his head and the goatee that look kind of like his dad's...he could see his wrinkled blue scrubs and the scars on his hands and the way they shook...his heart rate was getting fast again. He shouldn't be able to see all that. It was too much...the beeping and the humming of the equipment and the doctor's heartbeat and the heartbeats of his father and Steve...

"Hello, Peter." The man murmured, coming to stand at the end of his bed. "My name is Doctor Stephen Strange. How are you feeling?"

"I'm...um...what…" He looked around the Medbay once more, finding no clues as to what could be happening as he struggled to focus. "I'm sorry...Doctor Strange? What happened?" He asked, fogging up the mask as he spoke, words muffled.

"You were bitten by a radioactive spider which triggered a mutation in your genes. Your fever began rising yesterday and continued to rise until about an hour ago." The man spoke in a no-nonsense tone, arms crossed.

Radioactive spider? Mutation? He didn't like any of those words but was too tired to try and make sense of it. He felt okay...so maybe he was fine?

"What time is it?"

"It is nearly three in the morning. Your field trip was yesterday." He paused, leaning in a little. "How are you feeling?" The doctor repeated.

"Fine...I feel a lot better." He admitted, starting to sit up, but the Doctor held out a hand. Obeying for the moment, he rested against the pillows stacked behind him, then tapped the mask. "Can I take this off?"

"Yes." The doctor stepped around Peter's dad and helped him remove the mask, then disconnected a couple of the tubes in Peter's arm. "I'd like to draw some blood and run some tests...I know this is a lot to take in, but for the moment, you should try and get some more sleep. Are you in any pain?"

"No...I feel fine. I'm just tired." He glanced over at his dad. "Is my dad okay?"

"Yes. He was very worried about you, but he finally fell asleep a few hours ago. Would you like to wake him?"

Peter shook his head. The man was probably exhausted. "No...um...that's okay. Let him sleep. He had a meeting in DC yesterday and...I don't remember coming here..."

"That's alright. You had a very high fever, so it's not uncommon for you to have trouble remembering. Go ahead and get some rest. I'm going to draw some blood, and then I'll let you sleep." Peter nodded, closing his eyes and leaning against the pillow while Doctor Strange removed some of the needles, then drew blood. He didn't feel sick anymore, but he remembered bits and pieces. Pain. His head throbbing. Someone holding him down. Screaming...he remembered screaming. And someone holding his hand. It must have been his dad...his dad wouldn't have left him if he was sick.

He flinched when the needle was slipped into his arm, fighting the urge to pull away. He hated needles. Back when he was little, he'd scream and cry and his father would hold him every time. Even during the first couple of years, his dad had been there for shots. He remembered being held on the sofa, sobbing into his dad's shoulder, and his father's hand rubbing gentle circles on his back. He remembered being torn between his absolute terror of needles and his love for being held by his usually distant father. And he remembered the latter winning out every time.

He still hated needles, but he was too big to act like a baby over it, so he was quiet when Dr. Strange drew blood, then let his eyes close. He was feeling a lot better, but he was still oddly tired. So he snuggled into the pillow, sighing softly and before he knew it, someone was pushing his hair back, the light touch tickling his forehead. He scrunched up his nose, bringing up a tired hand and trying to brush it away only to have someone catch his hand.

"Pete? Hey, buddy. You awake?" That was his dad. Something had happened...his dad was tired or upset or something. The man sounded upset, anyway, but Peter couldn't remember why. He forced his eyes open, blinking and meeting his father's bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes.

"Dad? Are you okay?" He asked, rubbing his eyes weakly, and his father gave an incredulous laugh.

"Yeah, kiddo. I'm okay." He reached up a hand, rubbing his eyes, and Peter realized he was crying. Fully awake, he tried to sit up, but his father kept a firm hand on his shoulder. To Peter's surprise, he barely felt it. His dad was pretty strong, considering he was Iron Man and he worked out with other superheroes, and Peter wasn't exactly weak...he worked out with superheroes too, but this was different. He could have easily sat up anyway...his dad's hand was light. Barely there. But he didn't fight...just let the man ease him back onto the bed. "Stay still for a second, buddy. Let the doctors look at you." His dad's voice was choked...weak and afraid and hopeful.

Dr. Strange and Dr. Cho appeared then, and Peter looked from them to his dad, confused and afraid. "Peter, do you remember what happened?" Dr. Strange asked. He shook his head.

"Not really...I was...I was at Oscorp and then I didn't feel good...then...this morning I woke up and you were here." He told the doctor, rubbing his eyes again. Dr. Strange nodded, he and Dr. Cho exchanging glances, and Peter turned to his dad. "What's going on? What happened?" He asked, voice hitching. The man, who looked like he'd spent the last 24 hours in the chair by Peter's bed, took the boy's hand. Peter let him, freaked out enough that he didn't mind his dad babying him.

"You were bitten by one of the spiders at Oscorp." His dad told him, thumb rubbing over the back of Peter's hand. "One of the radioactive spiders." He nodded...he vaguely remembered that. "They were studying gene mutation and...the bite triggered a mutation."

"A...a mutation?" Peter asked, his voice breaking a little. He sort of remembered the doctor mentioning that, but suddenly he remembered Brice and get a shiver go down his spine. "Am...am I...a mutant now? Am I a spider? Am I going to grow extra legs or something? Oh god...am I going to eat flies!?" He could tell his dad was trying to hold back a laugh, but at the last question, he couldn't contain a snort. He didn't sound all that amused though...more hysterical, a hand brushing over Peter's hair again.

"No, buddy. You aren't going to turn into a spider." He murmured, his hand still running through Peter's hair.

The look on his father's face was broken...hysterical and afraid, more so than Peter had ever seen him, and a thought occurred to him. "Dad...did I...did you think I was going to die?" He asked, his voice barely a whisper and his dad sobered immediately. He seemed to gather himself, squeezing Peter's hand more tightly.

"Your fever was really high for a while. You scared the hell out of me." He murmured, leaning closer and resting a hand on his forehead as if to check for a fever, then moved the hand to Peter's shoulder.

"I'm okay…" He looked around the room again, flinching at the bright fluorescent lights over his bed. Everything was so...bright. Sharp.

"What's wrong?" His dad asked immediately, never one to miss anything. Well...not anymore.

For the first few years living with his father, the man had rarely been around and even when he was, he was always preoccupied. The man would come home late, smelling like alcohol and sometimes Peter would get a pat on the head or a quick hug before he'd disappear back down into his lab where Peter had never been allowed to go. Peter had asked plenty of times, but JARVIS had always said it was too dangerous. Often, the AI would play music for him, or the two would play I Spy in his bedroom when Peter couldn't sleep. It was like having a real friend in the house. Of course, he had Shannon, and she'd been great, but she'd been his nanny. Not his father.

Peter had lived for those days when his father would come home and hug him. Once, after he'd returned from Afghanistan, he'd taken Peter out to ice cream. He'd asked Peter about school. Smiled and ruffled his hair and when they'd gotten home, he'd even sat with him at the table and together they'd read a book. Put a puzzle together. That night, Tony had put him to bed, tucking him in and kissing his forehead.

The next morning, JARVIS had informed him that his father was on another business trip. Five days later, he'd been back to normal. Then, more distant than normal. His father had come home from a trip a few weeks later looking kind of sick. Upset. He hadn't even hugged Peter then, just asking Shannon to take him out somewhere. And it had been weeks before he'd actually see his father again. Weeks of crying himself to sleep, heart aching as he tried again and again to figure out what he'd done...how he'd managed to drive his father away after one day together.

Uncle Rhodey had come over one night while his father had been having a party. A loud party...the music had reached his room where he'd been curled up in bed, blankets over his head. Finally, when he'd heard shouting and rumbling from downstairs, he'd snuck out of his room, peering downstairs from the top of the stairs and watching in horror as his father and Uncle Rhodey had fought, their suits destroying their house.

When Uncle Rhodey had finally left and his father had glanced up at him, Peter had hoped and prayed that the man would come up...would pick him up and hold him and tell him that it was going to be okay. Instead, his dad had dropped his head, chin hitting his chest. "Jar, get Shannon to put Peter back to bed."

His dad had come into his room a little while later...not too long after that night. After Auntie Nat had started coming around and something had happened with Auntie Pepper and Uncle Rhodey. Peter had been coloring, sitting cross-legged on the floor...he'd been eight years old. He remembered coloring with a new set of markers while Shannon made his dinner in the other room. He hadn't been thinking about his father. Hadn't been expecting him. But then the man had burst into his room, grabbing him under the arms and pulling him up, wrapping his arms around him and holding him.

He hadn't been scared. His father had never ever hurt him. Or even acted like he was going to hurt him. And the man had been laughing, so Peter had smiled, hugging his dad back and relishing the rare opportunity to be held by his father. And then the man had carried him down to his lab, sitting him on his lap and had begun pointing out different parts of the Iron Man armor. At first, Peter had been afraid...afraid his father would forget him again. Afraid that this would be like the time after his daddy had come home from being kidnapped and had hugged him so tight and promised he would be there and then he'd left...he'd gone on more business trips and drank more and Peter had been left with Shannon again.

But that hadn't been what had happened. The next day, his father had woken him up instead of Shannon and had eaten breakfast with him, asking about school and grinning and actually listening. Then he'd taken him downstairs to the lab again and climbed into the Iron Man armor, reaching out his arms and pulling Peter close. "I love you so much, Pete." His dad had murmured, and then the two had worked together all day. It had been like a dream!

The next day, his father had had to leave for a business trip, and Peter had been sure that it was all over...he'd been crying when his dad had come into his bedroom that morning, and the man had scooped him up into his arms, holding him close and pressing his cheek into Peter's hair.

"Hey, buddy...what's the matter?" At first, Peter had been too afraid to say it. Too afraid to say out loud how much he was going to miss his father...how it was going to hurt even more now that he'd been allowed in the lab and had been told how much he was loved. "Peter? Are you okay? Come on, bud...talk to me. What's wrong?"

"You're leaving." He'd finally cried, clutching his dad's shirt. The man had squeezed him tight, leaning against the headboard and pulling the blanket around them.

"It's just for a couple of days, kiddo."

"You're leaving." He'd repeated, and his dad had sighed softly.

"Why don't you come with me?" Peter had blinked, pulling away a little and looking up, meeting his dad's brown eyes with his own.

"Really?" He'd all but whispered, afraid to hope that it could possibly be true.

"Yeah, buddy. Really." His dad had smiled, ruffling his hair. Peter hadn't meant to say the next words, but they'd slipped out anyway.

"You never let me come with you." His dad had winced but had forced a smile.

"I know. I'm sorry, sweetheart. I should...I know I haven't..." He'd sighed, pulling Peter in again and resting his chin on his hair as he'd trailed off. "How about this? From now on, if I go on long trips, you come with me, okay? I promise."

It was a promise he'd kept until Peter had entered high school and had told his dad that he couldn't miss school that often, and his dad had agreed on the condition that they talked on the phone every night. It was an easy compromise.

"Peter, what's wrong?" His dad asked again, pulling him back to the present, his voice a little strained. His dad always noticed things now.

"Just bright." He muttered, not sure how else to explain it.

"I would like to run some tests." Dr. Strange stepped in, holding what must have been Peter's chart. "To see how the mutation is going to affect you. It seems your senses are heightened. Have you noticed anything else?"

"Uh...just...I think I might be stronger." Peter told him, feeling kind of dumb saying it, but neither man nor Doctor Cho seemed surprised.

"We'll test that." Doctor Strange assured him. "In the meantime, why don't we let you get changed and have something to eat." Both doctors nodded to them, withdrawing to another room, and Peter turned to his dad.

"Where's Steve? Wasn't he here this morning?"

"Yes. He just went upstairs about an hour ago. He wanted to let everyone know how you were feeling."

"Everyone?"

"Yeah, kiddo. The whole team's here." His dad smiled, carding his fingers through Peter's hair. Peter felt his face flush, staring down at his hands, and his dad ruffled his hair. He couldn't help noticing his dad's close proximity...how he kept holding his hand and touching his hair. He didn't mind...he was kind of freaked out. Apparently, he'd been really sick and he couldn't remember much of it. Just pain. Fighting. Yelling...and more pain. And being hot. Too hot. And having trouble breathing. He'd wanted his father more than anything...and his father had always been there. "Alright, buddy. You want to try and get up? Steve brought you a change of clothes. Then we can go upstairs and get you something to eat if you're feeling up to it. Or they can come down here...everyone's going to be happy to see you."

"Uh...okay. I think...I think I can get up." Peter nodded, taking the hand his dad offered and putting his feet on the ground. Unsure at first, he was surprised when he didn't feel unsteady at all. "You good?" His dad asked, and Peter nodded, standing upright.

"Yeah...I feel fine." He grinned, and before he could say anything else, his father was pulling him into a tight hug, a hand pressed tight against the back of his head. It felt like a long time passed...his father kept him close, breathing deeply...carefully. Then he heard his dad sniff, his breath catching, and, anxious to comfort him, Peter hugged him back just as tightly...right before his dad flinched.

"Uh, Pete...I can't breathe." Immediately, Peter dropped his arms, taking a step back, but his dad caught his arms, grinning. "You weren't kidding about being stronger, huh?" Now that he was sure that his dad was okay, he grinned back.

"Yeah...sorry." Hid dad chuckled, reaching down and grabbing a duffle bag.

"Don't worry Pete. Here. Think you can handle getting changed on your own?" Peter nodded, assuring him that he would be fine. "I'll be right outside if you need me."

Once Peter was changed into jeans and a sweatshirt, he wandered out of the room to find his dad leaning against the wall, phone in hand. He grinned when Peter appeared, reaching out and putting an arm around his shoulders, then leading him to the elevator after shoving the phone back in his pocket. "Pepper's on her way over from the airport."

"She doesn't have to come home." Petter hurried to assure him, wide-eyed. "I know she's busy...I'm fine!"

"Yeah, well, it wasn't looking too good there for a while, bud." That sobered him immediately. His dad had thought he was going to die…and he'd called everyone. To say goodbye.

"You can call her...tell her she doesn't have to come."

"She wants to see you, Pete." He didn't argue anymore...he missed Pepper. He knew she and his dad weren't on the best of terms, but both were trying, and he just hoped they'd get it figured out soon. They were supposed to go on a vacation together sometime soon...he hoped that was still on.

The elevator took them up to the penthouse, and then the doors were opening, revealing the entire team, minus Bruce and Thor of course. Steve was the first up, jaw-dropping as he looked Peter up and down, hurrying over to them and putting a bracing hand on Peter's shoulder. "Peter? Should you be out of bed?"

"Doctor Strange said he was fine to come up and get something to eat. Wanna let the kid sit down?" His dad asked, still grinning as he led Peter over to the kitchen counter, not removing the arm until Peter was sitting. And immediately the others were surrounding him, Natasha first. To his surprise, she put her arms around him and squeezed tight, the side of her cheek resting on his head. Not that she wasn't nice or anything...he'd always loved his Auntie Nat. But she wasn't always the most physically affectionate now that he was older.

When he'd been younger, she'd pulled him onto her lap plenty of times, arms warm and secure around him, and he'd always felt completely safe. Loved.

"Hi, milaya." She murmured.

"Privet, tetya Nat." He answered, letting her pull back and rest a hand on his forehead, apparently pleased with what she found.

"Feeling better?" She asked, switching to English.

"Yeah. I'm fine...just hungry."

"You sure, kiddo?" Clint asked, and both Sam and Rhodey leaned in, looking equally worried and skeptical.

"Yeah. I feel fine. The doctor said he needed to run tests and stuff, but I'm alright now." The archer lifted an eyebrow, then leaned in as if to get a closer look, lifting a hand to Peter's forehead. Laughing, Peter batted his hand away, and the man finally smiled, seeming to take a deep breath for the first time since Peter had come into the room.

"We'll let the doctor be the judge of that." His dad told him dryly, heading into the kitchen and opening the freezers. "Waffles sound okay, bud?"

"Sure."

"I'll have some waffles too, Tony!" Sam called, patting Peter firmly on the back. "Glad to see you up, short stuff. Maybe later you can go up with me in the Falcon suit."

"Oh! Dad said it was okay!" Peter cried, suddenly remembering a snippet of conversation from earlier...when he'd been sick. "Right, Dad?"

"We'll see." His father called from the kitchen, and Peter glared for a second, turning back to Sam who was watching him with a smirk.

"He said it was okay. Right, Steve?" Captain America chuckled.

"Me too, Tony! Extra crispy!" Rhodey put in, grinning as he came up behind Peter, a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, kiddo."

"Hey, Uncle Rhodey."

"Wow, am I glad to see you up." He squeezed Peter to his side, then patted him on the back. Peter rested his head against the man's chest, squeezing him back. "We were worried, Pete."

"Sorry." He mumbled, and the man shook his head, pulling away and running a hand through his hair, probably making it stand up even more, but Peter didn't care. Not when his uncle was looking at him like that...like he'd been so afraid. It was how all of them were looking at him.

"Not your fault, buddy."

Steve sat on a stool beside him at the counter, throwing a huge arm over his shoulders and pushing Rhodey playfully out of the way. "You want Dad to make you waffles too?" He asked, and Captain America chuckled.

"Sounds good." He could practically hear his dad rolling his eyes, but figured that since he'd been so sick, his dad would put up with the cheek for a little while longer.

Tony ended up making enough waffles for everyone, and the whole team sat around the table, scarfing down their breakfast and keeping a close eye on Peter. A really, really close eye...like they expected him to disappear at any minute. He tried to focus on his food and not on being the center of attention...or how hungry he was. He just knew that he had to focus extra hard on not squeezing his fork too tight. He ended up asking for seconds which his father was happy to make him, and then, keeping up with Steve, he ate two more. After six waffles, all smothered in syrup, and three glasses of milk, he was finally full.

Pepper arrived halfway through breakfast, looking harried and frightened, and as soon as she caught sight of him, she dropped her bag and threw her arms around him, pulling him out of his chair wrapping him tightly in her arms, then kissing the top of his head. "Peter." She whispered, releasing a breath in a relieved sigh, and he hugged her carefully, fully aware that he could hurt her.

"I'm okay." He tried to assure her, and she rested a hand on the back of his head, her other arm pulling his dad close when the man approached. "I promise...I'm okay."

"You're okay." She repeated, sniffing and pulling away, hands on his shoulders as she smiled at him, his dad stepping to the side.

"Yeah." She cupped his cheek as if worried he might vanish, giving him the same look that all the others were giving him. All through breakfast, they'd been staring. "You didn't have to come all the way back."

Pepper frowned, glancing at his dad, and the Avengers all went quiet at the table behind him. "We thought...Peter, you could have died." She said the words softly...gently, but still, his dad flinched.

"But I'm fine." He promised. She nodded, glancing at his dad.

"Doctor Strange is going to look him over...make sure." His father assured her. She nodded, accepting Steve's offer of waffles, and they went back to eating breakfast in an almost tense silence. They were all worried still, Peter realized. It worried him too. He had...mutated? What did that mean? That he was hungrier than before? That he was stronger? But...what else?

Steve jumped up to do the dishes when they were all finished eating, grabbing Peter's plate as he went, and Tony led Peter back over to the elevator, his arm heavy and warm around his shoulders as he stayed close. "You sure you're feeling okay, Pete?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. I mean...I don't have my contacts in, but I can see!" His dad lifted his eyebrows as the elevator started to move.

"We'll have Strange look at that."

"He's going to be running tests all day, isn't he?" Peter asked with a sigh. Tony chuckled, giving him a rueful smile.

"Yeah, I think so. Sorry, buddy." He squeezed him close, and Peter realized how afraid his father must have been...of course, his dad hugged him all the time. Was always keeping him close and ruffling his hair, squeezing his shoulder...he loved him. He always made sure that Peter knew how much he loved him, something that had started that first day when he'd taken him down to the lab, and had never stopped. But this was more than usual...he had barely let Peter out of his sight since he'd woken, just let him get dressed and then he'd stuck to his side ever since, turning to check on him constantly during breakfast and sitting so close that their legs had nearly touched.

Doctor Strange and Doctor Cho were both waiting for him in the Medbay, both holding tablets and looking fascinated. Helen was the first to see him, and she smiled, placing the tablet on the table and reaching out, wrapping her arms around him. He hugged her back, resting his head on her shoulder. "I'm glad you're feeling better." She murmured.

Peter smiled. "Thanks. Me too." Helen chuckled. Doctor Strange gave a small smile, gesturing toward the chair set up in the corner.

"Alright, Peter. Take a seat on the bed and we'll get started."


	8. Testing

Testing

Doctor Strange started with a blood test, and Peter was glad that his dad was there to hold his other hand without even asking. The man was hovering. Sticking close to his side. And, honestly, Peter didn't mind. It was good to have him close. It made him feel safe. His dad was Iron Man. Iron Man would always protect him.

Doctor Strange didn't seem bothered by Tony Stark's presence, just carefully slid the needle into Peter's arm, the pinprick so tiny and gentle that Peter barely felt it. Still, he looked away while the doctor drew his blood, eyes straying over to the other side of the room as his father rubbed his thumb over Peter's knuckles. "Your DNA has mutated thanks to the spider DNA introduced to your system." The doctor told him. "What changes have you noticed, apart from being stronger?"

"I can see," Peter told him, shifting and sitting cross-legged in the chair, his dad scooting his own chair closer. "I used to wear contacts but I woke up without them in and I can still see...like, better than before. Even with contacts."

"Okay. We'll take a look at your eyes. Anything else?" Peter shrugged, and Doctor Strange seemed to think for a minute. "Alright. I'd like to test something. I noticed a change in the skin on your hands and feet. Hold out your hand." Peter did, palm up, and the doctor placed a pencil in his hand. "Now, I want you to focus on that pencil." Peter nodded, not sure where this was going. "Now flip your hand over." Peter glanced over at his father who didn't seem to understand any better than he did, but still, he flipped his hand over, then felt his blood run cold.

The pencil was stuck to his hand.

"As I suspected. The spider DNA has changed the skin on your hands and, I'd guess, your feet as well." Peter barely heard him over the roaring in his own hears. Spider DNA...the spider DNA had changed...his skin? His skin was different...it could stick to stuff?

"So I...I can stick to stuff?" He asked, voice hoarse, jerking his hand back and watching the pencil fall to the ground. His father put a steadying hand on his back, and Peter swallowed hard.

"Yes. It appears so." He looked over at his dad, heart in his throat, and his dad rubbed his back.

"It's alright, bud. You're fine." He assured him.

"I'd like to test your ability to stick to things…" He gestured toward the wall and Peter looked at his dad again who was staring at the Doctor a little strangely. He didn't understand until his father spoke.

"You think...you think he'll be able to climb the wall? Like a spider? What if he falls?" Peter had to second that question.

"He shouldn't." Doctor Strange assured him. His dad shook his head.

"Not good enough, Doctor." The man stood. "I'm going to get my suit. How about that, Pete? That way I'll be able to catch you." Peter nodded, and his dad moved to the other side of the room so that his suit could assemble.

When he was ready, he rejoined them, and Peter stood and faced the wall. "Are...are you sure?" He asked Doctor Strange, feeling kind of dumb. The man nodded.

"Yes. I believe that, with your mutation, you will be able to climb on a wall with no difficulty. I'd like to test that theory in a safe environment."

Peter stared up at the wall, then turned back to his dad. "You'll catch me?" He clarified. His dad wasn't wearing the Iron Man mask so he could see his eyes soften.

"Of course I will, buddy. But you don't have to do this if you don't want to." Nodding, Peter pressed his hands to the wall above his head, then, taking a deep breath, he pulled himself up.

His dad inhaled sharply behind him as he began to scale the wall. He was wearing socks, but his feet still stuck to the wall, and he was able to climb halfway up to the ceiling before he glanced back down. His father was hovering behind him in the suit, and, seeing that his dad was close by, Peter kept climbing, shocked that he hadn't fallen yet. "I'm...I'm sticking to the wall." Peter's dad nodded, not looking too happy about the fact. "Do you want me to get down?" He asked, voice small.

"No...I mean...if you want." His dad swallowed hard, voice a little nervous. "Is it hard? Climbing the wall?"

"Not really." He shrugged. "I don't even really have to think about it. I can just...stick."

"Alright. You can come down." Doctor Strange called, and Peter crawled down, climbing backward until he could hop down onto the floor in front of the Doctor. His dad landed with a clank beside him, immediately reaching out and clasping him on the shoulder.

"You okay?" Peter nodded, not sure why he wouldn't be...but also not sure if he was telling the truth. Was he okay? He'd just climbed a wall, and while some smart part of him couldn't believe it and was freaking out about how cool that was, most of him was just scared. And no matter what he said, he was pretty sure his father already knew it.

The next two hours were spent doing more tests...lots of them. His dad texted Steve and had him bring down some granola bars when Peter got kind of hungry, all while Stephen Strange tested his sight and hearing and studied his hands and feet. Peter munched on the granola bars and his dad stayed by his side, Steve sticking around as well after bringing down the granola bars and getting updated on Peter's new abilities. Finally, the doctor wanted to test his strength, and, staring at Steve, he gave a small smile. "How about we give you a chance to get out of the Medbay for a little while, Peter?" He asked, and Peter nodded, jumping to his feet, happy to do whatever the doctor suggested if it meant he could leave that room.

Twenty minutes later, Peter glanced back at the doctor and his father as he stepped into the boxing ring in the gym, gloves already on his hands. They didn't feel heavy anymore. Before, they'd weighed him down when he'd boxed with Steve or Happy. Now they were like mittens on his hands...weightless.

"Are you sure…". His father started again as Steve ducked under the ropes and stepped into the ring, giving him a reassuring smile. It was a question he'd asked at least five times, and every time the doctor had patiently explained that all of Peter's stats were normal. That he was being closely monitored. Etc. And this time was no exception.

"He's shown no signs of any kind of after effects from his illness. No sign of brain damage or organ failure and his temperature has remained steady at slightly below average."

"So you want him to box with Captain America?" His father asked, incredulous.

"You said he's trained with Captain Rogers for years now. Steve already has a baseline understanding of how strong Peter is. He's the best equipped to let us know how much stronger Peter is than before." Peter's dad just sighed, then nodded. He, along with Dr. Strange and Steve, were the only ones in the room. The others had been up all night waiting for him to wake up, and so they'd all agreed to shower and rest after breakfast while Dr. Strange ran his tests...which apparently included boxing.

His dad wasn't sold on it, but he seemed to trust the doctor for the moment. So Peter had put on the boxing gloves and got ready to spar with Steve, which he'd been doing for years. He knew Steve pulled all his punches and was always really careful, so he wasn't afraid or anything. Steve would never hurt him.

He had been afraid the first time. A couple of kids had been picking on him at school and Steve had found out. When he'd come home that day with a black eye, he'd been really grateful that his dad had been at a company trip for the day. And he'd known that his father would be gone for at least another few hours, so he'd figured he would just have to lay low...maybe lie and say he wasn't feeling so good and stay holed up in his room for the rest of the night...or maybe steal a little of Pepper or Natasha's makeup. But then he'd run into Steve in the hall, and the man had immediately demanded to know what had happened.

In hindsight, it had been a dumb plan. And Captain America could be kind of scary when he wanted to, but Peter had clammed up, refusing to tell him until the man had led him over to the sofa, a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Pete. Talk to me, son." He'd just shrugged, but Steve hadn't spoken again, just waiting silently until Peter had broken. Not surprisingly, it hadn't taken long. Peter never had been very good at keeping secrets.

"They were making fun of another kid...they called him...they called him a bunch of mean stuff and I told them to leave him alone." He'd finally muttered.

Steve had nodded, ruffling his hair. "You're a good kid, Peter. It's good to stand up for your friends But you need to stand up for yourself too. If someone hits you, you're allowed to fight back." He'd just shrugged. For a moment, they'd set in silence, then Steve had pulled him to his feet. "Come on, son."

"Where are we going?"

"Just come with me." So Peter had followed, into the elevator and down to the training room of his father's house where the boxing ring sat. "Here." He'd handed him the gloves and Peter had stared at them for a moment, feeling them weigh down his hands. Steve had shown him how to wrap his hands up and then he'd slipped the gloves over his hands. "Alright, bud. Hit me." Peter had blinked, looking between Steve and the gloves in confusion.

"What?"

"Hit me, kiddo. We're gonna box."

"Box?'

"Come on, kid. Hurry up. Before I get old."

"You're already old, Steve." The man had snorted, scooting closer, and Peter had instinctively taken a step back. Steve had paused at that, turning solemn. "I'm not going to hurt you. And I doubt you can hurt me. So come on."

Peter had sighed, glancing around as if waiting for someone else to show up and catch him or something, but after a moment, he'd tapped Steve with his glove, making the man laugh out loud. "Come on, Peter! You can hit harder than that!" So Peter had, and over the next hour, Steve had taught him how to box. His dad hadn't been too happy when he'd come home a few days later to find Peter in the ring with Steve, but he'd gotten used to the idea after a while and had even joined in a few times.

Peter grinned at Steve as he circled with the taller man, hands up just like Steve had taught him. Then he felt a twinge...a shiver up his spine, and he ducked on instinct, moving easily out of the way as a glove-covered hand came his way Steve threw another punch, and Peter dodged every one, even when Steve got faster and faster. He saw his dad lean in, hand over his mouth, but even when he was distracted, he managed to duck one of Steve's blows, then started throwing in a couple of careful jabs. "You can hit me, kiddo," Steve assured him, swinging and missing.

A glove covered hand came flying toward him then and, without thinking, he caught it between two gloves, meeting Steve's incredulous expression with one of his own.

"Did he just…". He heard his father mutter, trailing off. Doctor Strange stepped closer, looking intrigued. Steve backed up a little, hands up, and the match began in earnest. They circled again, and Peter swooped in, managing to avoid every jab from Steve. Then he finally managed to get a blow in, freezing when it knocked Steve back against the ropes. Dropping his arms immediately, he took a step back.

"Steve? I'm so sorry...are you okay?" He was stronger...he'd known that! Why had he hit the man so hard?

"I'm fine, Pete." Steve laughed, shaking his head and grinning "You weren't kidding, huh? You really are stronger." The two kept up the fight until Doctor Strange told them to go ahead and stop. Apparently, he'd gotten everything he needed, and Peter was starting to realize how strong he actually was. "It looks like you're able to sense hits before they happen...I'd like to test that."

"How about we test that later, Doc? I think he's had enough tests for one morning." His father put in.

Peter was chuckling when Steve nudged him and climbing out of the ring when it hit him...a wave of dizziness so strong that he reached out on instinct, grabbing Steve's arm. "Pete?" He heard Steve ask, and then his knees buckled, unable to hold his weight. Someone was yelling but he couldn't understand any of it, only aware that Steve was lowering him carefully to the mat.

"Peter? Talk to me. What's wrong?" Doctor Strange asked, and he tried to focus on that calm, serious voice.

His dad wasted no time in appearing next to him, a hand on his hair. "No...come on, Pete. Don't do this. Please…" He murmured frantically, his voice soft.

"I'm...I'm ju'...diz'y…". Peter managed, trying to calm his dad down. He didn't want him to worry...he'd already worried so much. But his voice was slurring...he wasn't sure why.

"You're dizzy?" The doctor asked, crouching beside him and touching his forehead. Peter hummed a yes, closing his eyes to see if that helped. Somehow, it didn't...it still felt like the room was spinning. Someone took his wrist, and he opened his eyes, looking around at the men gathered around him. Doctor Strange was doing something with his hand and he flinched when his finger was pricked. Steve was sitting beside the doctor, on his left, and his head was cradled in his dad's lap, a gentle hand carding through his hair.

The doctor muttered under his breath as he jumped to his feet. Peter tried to follow his movement but everything was spinning so he slumped back against his dad. "Dad?" He asked, and the hand on his hair stilled, moving to cup the side of his face.

"It's okay, bud. I'm right here."

"Wh...wha's wrong?"

"Your blood sugar is low. We're going to get you something to eat."

"Jus' ate…" He felt so weird, heart racing in his chest. "Dad?"

"Peter? You're going to be fine." Steve told him softly and then the doctor was back, poking him in the thigh with something. He tried to jerk away, but Steve held him down. "It's okay, buddy."

"Peter, open your mouth." The doctor ordered, and he did, body moving more slowly than he was used to, and something was put in his mouth. It tasted like pure sugar, and he flinched but managed to chew it, and then something else was held to his lips. "Drink." Dr. Strange ordered, and Peter did, nearly gagging at the sour orange juice after the sugar. "Alright. Captain, can you move him to the couch?" He felt someone scoop him into his arms, and then place him on the sofa in the corner of the training room. His father stayed at his side and things slowly went back to normal just in time for him to feel his stomach growl.

"I just ate." He muttered, confused. He had, right? Granola bars! He'd had three!

"It seems as though your metabolism is now much faster than before the mutation. It may be as fast as Steve's, which means you will need to eat quite a bit more than you're used to." Doctor Strange told him.

"Good thing I've got plenty of money for food, huh, kiddo?" His dad joked, ruffling his hair, but he couldn't miss how scared he still looked.

"I'm okay." He tried to assure his dad, but the man didn't look comforted. He started to sit up, but both his Dad and Steve kept a hand on his shoulder.

"Hold on, kiddo. Just...let the doctor make sure before you get up." Peter nodded, more than willing to do as his father had asked. Doctor Strange reached out for his hand again, and he flinched when the man pricked his finger for what felt like the hundredth time that hour. His father was crouching beside him, hand still carding through his hair while the doctor waited for the results.

"Much better." He told them, putting the small black meter back into a bag. "Alright. Peter, from now on, you will need to make sure you eat much more often. Think double what you would usually eat, at least. It would be best to keep food with you, especially if you're going to do any kind of exercise." The doctor looked up at his dad, who nodded solemnly, and Peter wondered how much food he was going to find around his home from then on.

"Right. Okay." He muttered, rubbing his eyes and wondering with a growing pit in his stomach what other weird stuff was going to happen to him. Would there be more side effects? Some more not so cool ones? His dad was close to his side and he was torn between annoyance and gratitude. He wasn't a baby...but he was scared. His DNA was different...what would that mean? His father saw the worry on his face and took his hand.

"It's fine, Pete. Don't worry. It's going to be okay." He looked up at his dad, not convinced. "We're going to run tests...figure this out. You don't have to be scared." Usually, he would have bristled. He would have been embarrassed. But he was scared. Bruce had been exposed to radiation and look at him! He'd tried to kill himself a long time ago, and he had still had trouble controlling his mutation the last time Peter had talked to him. What would happen to him now? People didn't like mutants. They were afraid of them and some people even hated them. Now he was a mutant. Would someone come after him now?

Doctor Strange and Steve excused themselves, Strange to look over his test results and Steve to get lunch started while Peter lay on the sofa at his father's insistence, his dad sitting right beside him. "How are you feeling buddy?" He asked after a few minutes, almost hesitant. Peter realized again how much he must have scared him.

"I'm okay, I think." He started to sit up, and his dad slipped a hand behind his back, helping him. He felt a lot better, but he was still hungry. "Dad?" He asked, and the man lifted his eyebrows, waiting. "Do...do we have to tell anyone?"

"No." The man shook his head, brow furrowed. "No, we don't have to tell anyone except the team." He paused. "Why?" Peter shrugged a little, dropping his eyes.

"I just...I've seen the news, you know? People don't like mutants." His dad sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "If people find out they might...they might…" He trailed off, and his dad grabbed his hand, looking, waiting until Peter was looking at him in the eye to answer.

"I won't let anyone hurt you, buddy. You know that, right?" Peter nodded. "I promise, Pete. None of us would let anyone hurt you."

"I'm a mutant now." His father all but whispered. He hated that word suddenly. His father squeezed his hand tight.

"You're my son." He murmured, voice soft and intense. "My son, Peter. And I love you more than anything in this life." Peter felt his eyes get hot, remembering a time when he would have done almost anything to hear his father say those words...and remembered all the times since that first day in the lab that his father had said them. On mornings before he'd left for school. At night before bed. At dinner. While Peter had been working on homework. "I will never let anyone hurt you. I've got your back. Always. You don't have to worry." Rubbing his eyes, Peter nodded, sniffing.

"I love you too." He whispered. Peter's father moved over to sit beside him, kissing him on the top of his head, a hand resting on the back of his neck.

"You're going to be fine, honey. I promise." His father had never lied to him, so he nodded his head, gripping his father's hand and hoping he was right.


	9. Hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot thank you guys enough for your wonderful response to this story! Here is the final chapter of my Iron Dad Big Bang 2019!

Hero

Peter hadn't given a lot of thought to his new...traits yet. Of course, Dr. Strange had spent the entire day running tests during which he'd learned that that he could stick to things, was stronger than before, and could see a lot better. And that was...fine. Cool? Mostly just weird though. Strange. His dad was still scared and the whole team was worried about him while Dr. Strange seemed mildly fascinated. He tried not to feel too much like the man's lab rat.

There were obviously downsides to his new weird...mutation? He was a mutant. Every time he heard that word or thought about it, he remembered seeing the news...how people talked about mutants. The tone they used when they said the word. How citizens interviewed on the streets cringed at the mere mention of mutants. How so many people, both regular citizens and lawmakers, thought that mutants ought to be registered or even locked away from 'normal people.' That's how people would look at him now.

That wasn't the only downside. There was also his weird new metabolism that demanded a lot more food than before, and that had nearly made him pass out in front of Steve and his dad after boxing for less than thirty minutes. And he knew that there might be others...there was no way of knowing. There were no other cases of humans being introduced to radioactive spider DNA. He'd been suffering from severe radiation poisoning.

His dad had thought he was going to die.

He hadn't told him exactly how bad it had been. Neither had Dr. Strange, probably at his father's request, but he heard the two of them talking several rooms over while he'd been resting on the sofa, arm covering his eyes from the annoying fluorescent lights whose constant humming he could suddenly hear. "You're sure the brain damage was all reversed?"

"Yes. His brain was repairing itself as quickly as the damage was being done." The doctor had assured him. They'd gone quiet after that, leaving Peter to wonder what they were up to in there. Laying on that sofa in the gym, he allowed himself briefly to miss Bruce. Of course, Helen was the Avengers doctor, and Dr. Strange had maybe saved him, but Bruce had been his doctor since the man had first come into their lives, cleaning up scrapes and bruises and always helping him out with science homework when he needed it. His dad had joked that Bruce was replacing him as his favorite. Peter had just grinned, and his father had ruffled his hair, then pulled him close, nose in his hair.

"Nah. You're always my favorite." Peter had told his dad, throwing his arms around him, and for a long moment, the man had just held him.

"You're always my favorite too, Pete."

Footsteps approached from pretty far away, taking a long time to get to him. Or maybe he could just hear them from further away. He could hear better. Everything was louder and brighter and...more. Everything was more. An irrational part of him wanted to cry, suddenly. He hadn't asked for this. He didn't want it! Didn't want to be a mutant with weird powers! His eyes heated up and he tried to push it away...he was being a baby. He had cool powers! Like Steve! And he could climb walls and…

"Pete?" He felt his dad sit on the sofa by his head, a hand brushing through his messy curls. "Look at me, kiddo." He urged, and, with a sigh, Peter removed his arm. His dad kept his hand on his hair, scratching gently at his scalp. "What's going on in that head of yours, kid?"

"I…" Peter hesitated, feeling the emotions rise and not knowing what to do with them. Hid dad just waited, though. "I don't want to be a mutant." He finally whispered, hating the tear that escaped. Immediately, his dad put his arms around him, pulling him upright so that he could rest his head on his dad's shoulder. Scooting up, he leaned against his father, glad that the doctor wasn't with them. He liked Doctor Strange just fine, but he didn't want to cry in front of him.

"Oh, kid." He whispered, sounding so sad, and Peter hated himself for making his dad worry even more. Shaking his head, he tried to pull away.

"I'm fine." He tried to insist. "It's fine, I just…" But his dad didn't let go and Peter didn't try too hard to make him.

"Kiddo, it's okay to be freaked out by this. It's going to take some getting used to. But you can take all the time you need, okay?" Peter took a deep breath and nodded, eyes slipping shut as he took a minute to rest against his dad. "You know I've got you, right? Always? I won't let anything happen to you."

He nodded again. "I know."

"And you know that you're going to be okay?"

"Yeah."

"Good." He felt his dad kiss his hair, squeezing him quickly before sitting up, wiping his eyes and ignoring the fond, almost amused look in his eyes. "Alright, buddy. You ready to head upstairs?"

"Does the doctor want to do more tests later?" Peter asked.

"I think that's enough tests for today." His father assured him, pushing himself to his feet, then holding out a hand to pull Peter up as well.

Peter's dad kept an arm around his shoulders, leading him into the elevator and then up to the first floor. Helen was talking to Doctor Strange, although his father wouldn't tell him what about. Peter figured he didn't really want to know, following his dad into the living room where they found Steve sitting on the sofa. The man jumped up, huge, worried eyes on Peter. "Are you okay?" He asked, reaching out and gripping his shoulder. His dad let him go, heading into the kitchen to get them drinks as Steve moved Peter towards the sofa.

"Yeah." Peter nodded, cheeks kind of red. He'd nearly passed out in front of Captain America.

"Are you sure?" Steve asked, ducking down to look into his eyes, Peter accepting the gatorade that his father handed him. Tony sat on Peter's other side, tossing Steve a gatorade as well and taking a swig of his own water.

"Turns out his metabolism is a lot faster than before, so he needs to eat more. Like yours." Steve hummed under his breath, not looking any less concerned. "Especially when he exercises, apparently. I'm going to work on some protein bars maybe...something that you can eat during the day to keep you from crashing. Want to help?" Peter shrugged.

"Sure." He muttered.

"Peter? You feeling okay?" Steve asked, touching his arm.

"Fine." Peter answered, voice short. Terse.

Peter could practically feel his dad and Steve giving each other a look...he knew he was worrying them. But he couldn't help it. He felt weird. And a little scared. And he didn't know what to do. "Alright, Pete. I'm going to run downstairs and talk to Doctor Strange and Helen. You okay up here?" He nodded, and Tony patted him on the shoulder, probably giving Steve another look over his head.

The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes, both staring at the TV that was turned to the news, and then a hand landed on his shoulder. "You know, after the serum...it was pretty strange." Peter glanced up at him. "I could see better, didn't have asthma...I was taller." He chuckled a little. "I didn't have a lot of time to think about it. And I'd signed up for it with some knowledge of what I was getting into. You, on the other hand…" He trailed off, gesturing to Peter with his hand. "I know it's rough, son, but you're going to be okay." He promised.

"I just...I see it on the news all the time. People hate mutants." Peter murmured. "There are people that think they should be registered or...or kept in prisons. Some people even want to kill them."

"I know. But you know your dad would never let that happen. Neither would the rest of us." He moved his hand to the back of Peter's neck, squeezing gently. "No one has to know, not if you don't want them to."

That was true...he could keep this secret. He knew that none of the Avengers would tell anyone, and neither would the doctors who'd helped him...Ned neither. Of course he was going to tell Ned! Right? Ned could keep it a secret. Rubbing his hands over his eyes, he leaned back against the sofa, and Steve smiled, moving his hand and then patting him on the knee. "Alright, Pete. You want to watch something else? I can change it."

"That's okay. I'm going to go to my room...better text Ned." Steve waved as Peter headed off to his room, more aware than ever of all the sounds...heartbeats and footsteps and whispers...it was so loud. Groaning, he pushed his door open, turned on the lights, then immediately shut them off. Too bright. Too loud.

"Peter? You seem to be in distress." Friday spoke softly, her voice lowered to her lowest setting.

"It's so loud." He murmured, dropping onto his bed. And it only seemed to be getting louder...so loud. He reached blindly for his phone on his bedside table and flinched at the light coming off his screen. Groaning, he dropped it onto his bed beside him. "Friday?"

"Yes, Peter?"

"Can you make it quieter?"

"Might I suggest going to your father's lab? It would probably be quieter there." The thought of standing with the steadily growing pounding in his temples sounded awful, so he just curled up in his bed, pulling the pillow over his head and curling up into a miserable ball before there was a soft knock on his door.

"Peter?"

"Hm?" He asked, knowing that she couldn't hear him but also not able to raise his voice any louder without the threat of bursting his own eardrums.

"Should I tell her that she can come in?" Friday asked, still speaking softly.

"Yeah." He muttered, and then Pepper was sitting beside him, a gentle hand on his back.

"Honey? Are you okay?" She asked, the hand moving to his hair, and his whole body went limp when she scratched circles with her nails. He groaned again and she continued to rub her fingers through his hair, scratching gently. "Friday?"

"Peter appears to be suffering from the beginnings of sensory overload." Friday told her, voice setting still on low. "This is most likely a result of his genetic mutations." He grumbled irritably under his breath and she shifted over toward him on the bed, moving his pillow and head so that they were resting on her lap.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Your current actions seem to be helping." He yawned, curling up under the blanket she pulled up over his shoulders as she continued to scratch his scalp.

"Friday, can you get the doctor and Tony?" She whispered, pressing her fingers into his temples. He wanted to insist that it wasn't necessary, but she'd already done it and he didn't want to speak. Speaking would probably hurt even more.

It wasn't long before his father was there, a large hand resting gently on his shoulder, low voices speaking to one another. "Peter? Can you hear me?" The doctor asked. Peter groaned at the noise, nodding just a little. "Can you tell me what's the matter?"

"Loud. Bright." He muttered.

"The best thing you can do is turn the lights off, reduce all noise, and give him pain medicine if he has a migraine." Doctor Strange spoke softly, and thankfully, his dad followed his suggestion, leaving and returning with a pill and a bottle of water that Peter swallowed, then went back to his position on Pepper's lap. The woman stayed at his side for three full hours, barely speaking, just rubbing circles on his scalp with her fingers, another hand rubbing up and down his arm. His father checked in a few times, pausing to run his hands through Peter's hair.

When the headache finally faded, Peter opened his eyes, sitting up at a little, and Pepper put a hand behind his back to help. "Better?" She asked, and he gave a hesitant nod. "Do you want to talk about anything?" He just shook his head, resting his head on her shoulder and fighting back the tears. He didn't want to cry again. But she wrapped her arms around him. "Oh baby...it's going to be okay." She promised.

He hoped she was right.

The first week seemed to pass this way. Peter stayed home from school and Doctor Strange stayed at the compound, taking blood samples and working in the lab with Helen Cho and Peter's dad. One minute, Peter would be fine, and the next, everything would seem to crash down around him. Sometimes it was sensory overload that left him with a pounding migraine that left him unable to do anything more than curl up in a ball in his dark bedroom that his father had managed to soundproof while working on a sensory deprivation room. His dad worried every time, sticking right by his side, resting Peter's head in his lap and promising in a soft voice that he was going to be okay. Other times his metabolism would crash when he wouldn't eat enough, or go too long without eating, and he'd have to grab onto the nearest piece of furniture to keep from collapsing until he could grab one of those granola bars.

At night, he had nightmares. Visions of men in suits dragging him away, locking him up in a lab and sticking him with needles. Images of being taken away from his father...from his family. Of being thrown into a cell or strapped to a table. The nightmares left him shaking, jerking awake and crying into his pillow. He always told Friday not to get anyone...he was too old be be crying to his dad every time he had a nightmare. Instead, he texted Ned, promising that he was fine and trying to figure out how to tell his friend that he was now a mutant.

By the end of the week, the doctor left with instructions for Helen to call him if any new symptoms arose, and Peter was getting back to feeling like himself. Not perfect...the sensory overload still happened, but his dad had perfected the granola bars with his help which meant he was eating all the time but also that he wasn't randomly feeling dizzy in the middle of the day. His dad still hovered...it was as if he was afraid to let Peter out of his sight, and Peter wasn't sure he blamed him. And if his dad wasn't with him, another member of the team was. Like they'd all made a pact never to leave him alone.

So on Saturday, Peter decided he had to get out of the tower, or he was going to go crazy. He found his dad in the kitchen making breakfast with Pepper, the two of them moving easily around one another as they cracked eggs and fried bacon, just enough for the three of them, which meant the team wouldn't be joining them. "Hey, Pete." His dad greeted, glancing up as he pulled the pan off the stove. You want to set the table?"

"Sure." Peter opened the cabinet, pulling out three plates and then fishing in the silverware drawer for forks and knives.

"How are you feeling?" Pepper asked, and Peter could feel both of their eyes on him as he set the table, grabbing napkins from another drawer and folding them by the plates.

"Fine." They were still watching, but neither questioned him further. He waited until they were all seated and eating before speaking. "So, um...dad?"

His dad chewed and swallowed his eggs before looking up at Peter, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"

"I was wondering if...uh…" He didn't know why this would be difficult. It wasn't like his dad was super strict or anything. He let Peter do pretty much anything he wanted on the weekends, as long as it was within reason and he was home by eleven. But he hadn't been out of the tower since getting sick and his dad had been so worried...still, he had to leave sometime. "If I could go over to Ned's today." He finally got out, staring down at his plate instead of at his father.

There was a long enough pause that Peter finally looked up, worried when he saw his dad staring down at his own plate as if deep in thought. "I don't see any harm in it." Pepper spoke up. "He's been feeling a lot better and he can take some granola bars with him. Plus you can be at Ned's apartment in a few minutes if he needs you."

Pepper wasn't the deciding vote, though. His dad was, and the man still didn't really look convinced. Then he looked up, meeting Peter's eyes for a moment before softening. "Yeah, that's fine, Pete. Did his parents say it was okay?"

"Yeah! His dad has to work and his mom said it's fine." He told him, eating faster and making the man chuckle.

"Don't choke, kid. You have time to chew your food." His dad pushed the water glass closer, shaking his head a little as Peter took a drink. "You want a ride?"

"No, it's okay. I can take the subway." The chance to get out on his own again and stretch his legs was too good to pass up, and his dad nodded.

"Alright, Pete."

When breakfast was over, Peter started to clear the table, but his dad waved him off, rolling his eyes. "Go on." He told him with a grin, laughing when Peter threw his arms around him before taking off towards his bedroom to get dressed.

"Thanks, dad!" He called, sprinting to his room, changing into jeans and a hoodie, then stuffed his backpack with his physics textbook, a printout of a new Lego spaceship he wanted to try to build, and a handful of those granola bars. Then, taking off towards the elevator, he found his dad waiting for him with a grin, arms open to pull him close.

"You have your wallet?"

"Yeah!" He told his dad's shoulder where his face was pressed.

"Phone?"

"Mhm."

"Granola bars?"

"Yep!" His dad pulled away with a smile, patting him on the back.

"Alright buddy. Call if you need me. Be careful."

"I will, Dad!" He called. "Love you. See you later!" And then he was in the elevator, then out the door and sprinting towards the stairs leading down to the subway platform, hood drawn tight over his face. No one ever really bothered him, and his dad had kept him away from the press thankfully, so he didn't have to worry about people trying to take his picture or follow him around or anything like his dad sometimes did.

He put his earbuds in, turning his music on but quickly turning it down when it was too loud. For a second he worried that the loud noise would trigger another migraine, but thankfully, one didn't show up, so he was able to sit in his seat on the subway, jumping off the train at his stop, then hurried up the stairs as he texted Ned that he was on his way.

The scream was faint, but it stopped him in his tracks.

Pulling his earbuds out and stuffing his phone in his pocket, he turned hesitantly towards the scream, then glanced around. No one else seemed to have noticed. He knew he should stay out of it...call the cops. Or even better, call his dad. Iron Man saved people. That was his job. But Peter was finally allowed out of the tower.

So he started walking toward it, pulling the drawstrings of his hoodie tight and hurrying toward the alley that the scream had come from. It was all quiet…but as soon as he stepped into the dim alley, peering around a dumpster, he saw them. Two men in front of a young woman, probably a few years older than him, one pinning her to the wall, the other going through a purse.

He stepped forward before he really had a chance to think about what he was doing. "Hey! Pick on someone your own size!" He snapped, knowing that made no sense. They were all about the same size. Still...it sounded kind of witty.

The man holding the purse glanced up at him while the woman attempted another scream around the other muggers hand that was pressed to her mouth. "Get lost, kid." The man with the purse told him almost lazily.

But of course, Peter couldn't do that. He started to pull out his phone...to warn them that he could have Iron Man himself there in less than five minutes...but then he remembered boxing with Steve. He was strong now...as strong as Captain America. So he took another step forward, hoping his hoodie hid his face enough that they wouldn't be too sure of how old he was...or be able to identify him. "Let her go." He ordered, strolling forward, hands in fists. At the ready.

"Or what?" The one either he purse asked, and Peter finally got close enough to reach out and grab the purse, moving fast enough that the man couldn't stop him.

"You know, that really doesn't go with your outfit." He told the guy, dodging when the fist came at him. It happened fast...the man seemed to pull the knife out of nowhere but Peter's weird new sense was going off, warning him every time it got too close.

Then the other guy joined it. "Run!" He shouted at the woman, pointing to her purse on the floor and hitting one of the muggers with a right hook that knocked him flat.

He stayed down.

Peter absently wished he had a way to tie him up before the knife got him, slicing across his side, but not too deep, then came at him again. He kicked, flinching when he heard something crunch, and the man went down, grabbing desperately at his leg and screaming. Too hard...he'd kicked him too hard!

Suddenly there was the sound of sirens, and Peter acted as if on instinct, grabbing the brick wall and climbing as quickly as he could, laying flat on the roof he found himself on and gasping for breath. He'd just stopped two muggers...then climbed to the roof of a building. He'd saved someone. Him! Peter Parker!

There was no way he could tell his dad about this! He'd have a fit! His dad never let him do anything dangerous like this. But something had occurred to Peter while he'd been fighting those guys...he had superpowers now. He could help people, just like his dad. He could be a superhero! A real one, just like his dad!

Not that his dad could ever know…but he knew someone who could.

Pulling out his phone, he shot a quick text to Ned.

"Dude, the craziest thing just happened! I'll be right there and then I have to show you something!"

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!!!


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